Chapter 138

The terrain and topography of the dark-green water grotto where the Xian King's Tomb is located are, geographically speaking, truly deserving of the name "funnel." Its formation is due to no more than two causes: one is that a strong water flow destroyed the soluble rock cave, causing a large-area collapse; the other is perhaps that, in hundreds of millions of years ago, an impacting meteorite caused it.

I rolled down the steep cliff carrying two headless half-insect men. This time I was mentally prepared; although my body fell rapidly through the air, my hands were never idle—I pulled the diving mask from my climbing helmet over my eyes, flung off the two headless insect corpses behind me, took a deep breath, opened my mouth to avoid having my eardrums ruptured by the tremendous impact of entering the water from a height.

Just as I was about to fully extend my body into a flying-fish entry, I hadn't even managed to do it before my body hit the water surface, shoulders and head first, struck by the tremendous impact on the water, my five viscera and six bowels flipped several times, I only felt my qi and blood surging in my chest, my throat sweet; martial artists often say "chest like a well, back like a plank," but without preparing the proper water-entry posture, with my back entering the water first, I might well have suffered internal injury.

Fortunately the pool water was deep enough; although the force of falling in was great, it didn't strike the bottom, carrying countless white splashes straight down several meters before stopping. I opened my eyes and saw that although the pool water looked deep blue-green from above, underwater it was crystal clear to the bottom, sunlight shining on the surface, bright green light shimmering, as if I had come to a crystal palace; the pool held countless large fish, many of them split-belly carp, whose flesh is delicious and peerless, rarely seen so fat and large.

But I had no time now to savor the memory of the large split-belly carp I had eaten when passing through Dali not long ago. Eager to surface and swim to the "Plank Road" to meet Pangzi and Shirley Yang, I immediately spread my arms and kicked toward the surface.

But though I moved my hands and kicked my feet, for a long time I saw no progress, and only then did I feel I was in a vortex-like undercurrent. This pool water is exceptionally clear; underwater I can see the aquatic plants on the bottom distinctly. Not far from me on the pool bottom, however, there is a huge black circular shape, appearing black only because it is too deep—it is a giant vortex, driving the pool's undercurrent, endlessly drawing the pool water into it.

Precisely because there is such a large vortex at the pool bottom, the waterfall group, despite pouring down day and night, cannot fill the pool; even the unfrozen spring of the Kangba Kunlun has such a large vortex below. It is said to lead directly to the Mediterranean Sea ten thousand li away, so this pool's vortex may also be a major water eye, connecting to great rivers, lakes, and seas; this possibility is certainly not nonexistent.

If one were sucked into the vortex, probably no one could retrieve my corpse; thinking this, my heart suddenly lurched. I hurriedly exerted all my strength to swim away from the vortex, but haste makes waste—the more anxious I became, the stiffer my limbs grew, not only failing to reach the outer edge, but instead being pulled by the dark current, bringing me several meters closer to the great vortex at the pool bottom.

From the moment I held my breath and entered the water until now, only a dozen or so seconds have passed; the air in my lungs can still last a while, but if I were held here by the vortex's dark current, I would not last long before my breath ran out, making survival unlikely—I would certainly be drawn into the depths by the vortex.

But now I am utterly unable to resist the vortex's strong suction; in an instant I was swept by the surging dark current to the pool bottom. In panic, I saw a thick patch of aquatic plants nearby; this large area of plants was also being moved by the undercurrent at the vortex's edge, all leaning in one direction. The plants grow in stone crevices on the pool bottom, and the gaps in those crevices are very narrow—fingers cannot even penetrate them.

Like seeing a lifeline, I hurriedly reached out to grasp those aquatic plants, hoping to temporarily anchor my body. Otherwise, even if I were just one meter farther from the vortex, I would never get out—indeed, it proved true what Pangzi often said: "When the grave-robbing officers burn incense, even the Buddha falls *." After great effort I seized a handful of aquatic plants, but who knew they were covered with many mayfly eggs, slippery as anything; I grabbed hard and came up empty.

I aimed at the large clump of aquatic plants and repeatedly reached out to grab it several times, but each time I came up empty, my heart sank a little more with each failed grasp; I had already lost count of how many times today I had faced life-or-death trials. I drew my Russian paratrooper knife, reversed it, and plunged it into the stone crevice where the aquatic plants grew; the reverse hook on the blade's edge now played a crucial role, fixing the blade at the junction of the plant roots and the stone crevice.

This slab-like large stone on the pool bottom appears to have been artificially chiseled; perhaps it fell during the construction of the Xian King's Tomb. Since the slab is heavy, it was not sucked into the vortex. I finally found a place where I could anchor myself, and dared not delay any longer; I gripped the slab and crawled along the pool bottom toward a distance, gradually escaping the vortex's suction range.

Suddenly I felt the sensation in my hand was wrong—icy cold and hard, like a thick iron shell, covered with large areas of peeling rust. Using the glimmer of light from the green waves, I saw that this stone, at its end, connected to a huge cylinder lying horizontally on the pool bottom, entirely covered with blue-green aquatic plants, through which shoals of small fish darted, making the great cylinder appear green as well.

One end of the aquatic-plant-covered giant cylinder was slightly tilted, having struck the adjacent stone wall and actually punched a large hole through it; the hole was pitch black, as if leading to another cavern. My mind stirred: "Ah, that must be it—we buried that bomber pilot, and now it turns out his bomber crashed into this pool, he parachuted down to the edge of Zhelong Mountain, unfortunately entombed by the high priest's jade coffin, meeting an unjust death at the forest's edge."

Precisely because that pilot wore the uniform of a bomber crew, we were able to tell that it differed from the transport plane that crashed in the trees—two different matters. Shirley Yang described this Insect Valley as Yunnan's Bermuda Triangle, a graveyard for aircraft. We have seen two large planes; who knows how many more we haven't seen.

Looking again at the stone wall pierced by the aircraft nose, in the damaged grotto, faint outlines of many strange beast stone carvings appear; this direction happens to be directly above the Deep Pool, where the king's tomb treasure hall is built on the perilous cliff, consistent with the idea—could the underground palace of the Xian King's Tomb have been blasted open by the crashed aircraft?

I had already been underwater for over a minute and could stay no longer; I had to surface quickly to breathe. As soon as my head broke the surface, I was dazzled by the myriad rainbows overhead, my eyes swimming. Although my hard-plastic climbing helmet had drainage holes to protect the head and reduce water resistance while diving, it still felt very heavy, so I temporarily took it off.

The unique topography of the funnel-shaped large pool acts like a giant natural amplifier, transmitting the sound of the waterfall group's torrential flow back and forth, roaring and echoing only within this cliff; in this silence, I saw two people on the "Plank Road" high above rushing down rapidly, encountering the damaged path washed out by the waterfall, they used vines to climb straight down the cliff—precisely Pangzi and Shirley Yang. No matter how quickly they came down, they could not match the speed of my direct fall.

Near the place where the waterfall rushes, even speaking mouth-to-ear might not be heard clearly. We were tens of meters apart; I simply gave up shouting, took my climbing helmet in hand, and waved my arms on the water surface.

A person surfaced in the dark-green large pool; viewed from high on the cliff, he was very conspicuous. Sure enough, Pangzi and Shirley Yang immediately spotted me and waved at me from the "Plank Road."

I raised my head; the surrounding cliffs rose like axe-chopped and knife-cut walls, the circular blue sky high above, distant and unattainable—I suddenly felt the dread of being trapped in a desperate situation. Yet the large group of half-insect men were now retreating toward the cave mouth beside the waterfall, perhaps because this is the main burial area of the king's tomb, equipped with many "Insect-Breaking Paths," so they cannot adapt to the "funnel" environment, and they retreated like a receding tide. However, these monsters' ability to adapt to environments is strong; I do not know whether they will return in force, but at least for now I can catch my breath in temporary calm.

I signaled to Shirley Yang and Pangzi on the "" with hand gestures, indicating they need not come down to meet me—I can climb up myself, and told them to wait for me on the Minglou Treasure Top of the Xian King's Tomb.

But those two seemed not to understand; they kept jumping and shouting, frantically pointing and gesturing, appearing very anxious. Although I could not hear their words, from their actions I understood that a hidden danger lurking in the depths of this pool was approaching me. I immediately swam with the speed of a race finish, racing toward the "Plank Road" at the pool's edge.

Seeing that I understood, Pangzi and Shirley Yang immediately rushed down the Plank Road; Pangzi fears heights, so he could only walk along the wide stone steps, and when encountering broken sections he would lift his buttocks and inch down bit by bit, while Shirley Yang almost jumped down layer by layer; the more hurried they were, the clearer I became of how perilous my situation was.

Fortunately, the Plank Road near the pool edge was very close; in a moment I arrived. At this time I was utterly exhausted, using my last bit of strength to climb onto the stone planks of the "Plank Road," but still feeling unsteady, I walked a few more steps before sitting on the ground, panting continuously. I looked at the emerald pool water, smooth as a mirror, with only concentric ripples raised by the opposite waterfall; I could see nothing dangerous about it, at most some people with heads split and intestines torn, fallen into the bottom, probably all sucked into the great vortex; although their blood is toxic, the quantity is limited, and upon entering the water it gets diluted, and moreover the great water eye beneath this pool has enormous exchange volume—no matter how much poison, it cannot remain in the pool water.

By now Shirley Yang had already come down; seeing me unharmed, she finally relaxed. I wanted to ask her what had happened, but here the water noise is too loud to speak, so I pointed to the "Xian King's Tomb Treasure Top" on the cliff, which looked relatively safe, and suggested we go there temporarily to rest. Currently our losses are not small, so we can only rest until nightfall, then work through the night—after all, in the underground palace of an ancient tomb, day and night make no difference.

I lifted my eyes to gaze at the palace on the perilous cliffs; in the rainbow mist it emitted a strange light, like a dream yet like an illusion; for a moment I could think no further, and so I stepped onto the thousand-year-old Plank Road, advancing toward the "Heavenly Palace."

Parting vines to find the way, as we went higher, the funnel-shaped terrain drew all sound downward; when we reached high ground, the water noise no longer seemed loud, and I could not help asking Shirley Yang: "Just now you were so panicked—what exactly did you see?"