Chapter 141

On the throne sat a coiled red jade dragon; when illuminated by the wolf's eye, light flowed through its body, and rolling red light surged—inside was actually all mercury—but this hollow mercury dragon was not strange; what truly caught our attention was the front half of the dragon.

Only a small portion of the dragon's body, including the tail, was coiled on the throne, its head plunged into the wall, with the tail and claws resting on the throne's back, appearing somewhat lazy. The front half of the dragon's body was unevenly inlaid into the back wall of the throne, blending with the murals on the hall walls, giving the entire mural a strong sense of depth without any jarring disharmony. The conception was marvelous, the craftsmanship exquisite, both reaching perfection. People often say: "The divine dragon shows its head but not its tail." Yet this dragon on the throne and wall shows its tail but not its head, as if this hollow mercury jade dragon were coming alive, flying into the mural.

The large mural integrated with the dragon's body depicts the scene of the Prince of Xian ascending to immortality: immortal clouds like seas, incense swirling, continuous mountains and palaces hidden within the clouds, mist and mountain light filled with spiritual vitality. Most prominent is the red jade dragon, raising its head toward the sea of clouds, the sky splitting open a crimson fissure, half the dragon's head already entered, its body connected to the throne in the "Palace of Ascending Clouds," where a crown prince, surrounded by ministers, steps upon the dragon's body and slowly ascends into the heavens.

This ruler is likely the Prince of Xian himself: towering far above ordinary men, wearing a wide-sleeved round-collared python robe, a jade belt at the waist, a golden crown on his head, with a pearl set into the crown resembling a human eye—clearly the likeness of the Hunchen Pearl.

The ruler wore three long strands of beard, his age indeterminate, his expression not particularly fierce, unlike our prior imagining. I always thought tyrants should have faces full of flesh, bristling beard, but this portrait of the Prince of Xian appears solemn and tranquil; I suppose it was artificially beautified.

At the highest point of the painting, an old man rides a celestial crane, his beard and eyebrows white, face smiling, bowing his head to gaze downward; behind him are countless pure and transcendent immortals. Though their postures vary, their expressions are all reverent, welcoming the Prince of Xian as he steps upon the dragon's body into the heavenly court.

I was stunned: the so-called "heaven's collapse" referred to the scene of the immortal king attaining the Dao and ascending, not whether outsiders could enter the Xuan Palace's Nether Hall; this must be highly secret, known only to the Prince of Xian's confidants.

In the corner of the central grand mural were two small paintings depicting the Prince of Xian offering sacrifices during his ascension: in bronze cauldrons filled with corpses being burned, a sight too horrific to behold, so I did not look further.

Pangzi said: "According to this mural, the Prince of Xian should have already ascended to heaven as an immortal, wandering freely. It seems we came for nothing—the underground palace of the royal tomb is likely already emptied. We might as well chisel this dragon, set fire to this heavenly palace, and hurry back to find a buyer to sell the jade dragon, make a fortune, then eat and drink as we please."

Shirley Yang said: "No, this is merely the Prince of Xian's one-sided wishful thinking in life—how could a mortal possibly become immortal?"

I also agreed with Shirley Yang's words, and said to the two of them: "Having reached the treasure summit of the royal tomb, how could we not enter the underground palace to search? Besides, have you not seen the portrait of the Prince of Xian in this painting? The pearl set into his golden crown is precisely the Phoenix Gallbladder that could save our lives."

After brief discussion, we decided to first thoroughly search this "Palace of Ascending Clouds," then determine whether the breach in the pool is the tomb passage of the underground palace, and then act overnight—seeing is believing; only by completely examining the funerary objects in the nether palace will we know: if we still cannot find the Hunchen Pearl, it is simply bad luck, and we can stop then—this is doing our utmost and accepting fate.

Before the Qin dynasty, palaces were central facilities integrating large-scale sacrificial activities and political rule, serving multiple functions; only in the Qin era did they become solely the emperor's residence, separate from the former palace and rear sleeping quarters.

As for the memorial towers on imperial tombs, the rear halls should be ancestral temples, not sleeping quarters, and should contain many steles and murals praising virtues, for descendants to worship and visit.

We have never seen what Qin palaces looked like, but the "Palace of Ascending Clouds" should resemble the Qin-era "Epang Palace"; although its scale surely cannot match the "Epang Palace" that burned for three months, in momentum it might surpass it. Considering that Qin Shi Huang was the first emperor in ancient times obsessively devoted to alchemy and immortality, he likely never imagined in his dreams that his subordinates would build a heavenly palace as a tomb, far more magnificent than his Qin mausoleum.

Having made up our minds, we moved toward the rear hall; I walked last, unable to resist glancing back at the bronze figures and beasts in the hall's center, still doubtful, feeling something was off, an indescribable sense of disharmony.

When I turned my head, I saw Shirley Yang standing still, waiting for me; her expression seemed to have reached the same thought as mine, though we had not yet realized exactly what was wrong; I shook my head at Shirley Yang, no need to dwell on it for now—when the boat reaches the bridge, it will naturally go straight—and we walked side by side toward the rear hall.

Passing through a short corridor, we arrived at a darker, more shadowy rear palace hall; examining the carvings in the corridor, this latter part is called the "Hall of Ultimate Truth," where steles stand like a forest, with eight separate mural walls; though the hall is deep, the numerous steles and mural walls prevent it from feeling cramped, quite reasonable; the eight mural walls are arranged in the pattern of the Nine Palaces and Eight Trigrams, each wall built of large bricks, all with a white base and three-color painting.

Aside from murals depicting war scenes, nearly every brick bears one or two paintings, or two or three figures, animals, architecture, or utensils, covering the politics, economy, culture, foreign affairs, military, sacrifices, ethnicity, and martial domains of the ancient Dian Kingdom during the Prince of Xian's reign.

These may be invaluable treasures for scholars studying dynastic history, but for me, a grave robber, they are of little use; I only hoped to find information about the underground palace of the royal tomb, but at a glance, my eyes were overwhelmed, and I could not possibly take in all of it.

The murals on these eight walls number in the thousands, combined with the steles and inscriptions in the hall, forming a complete compendium of Dian Kingdom history; I shone my wolf's-eye flashlight, selected some large murals, glanced at them briefly, and with Shirley Yang explaining a few sentences, I understood roughly eight or nine tenths.

The large murals are all war scrolls, recording the two wars commanded by the Prince of Xian in life: the first against the "Ye Lang Kingdom," where both "Ye Lang" and "Dian" were regarded as southwestern barbarians in the Han dynasty; the second after the Prince of Xian broke free from the rule of the "Ancient Dian Kingdom," when he slaughtered the local barbarians at the foot of the "Zhelong Mountain."

Both wars were overwhelming victories, with heavy enemy casualties, many prisoners captured, and much loot seized; at the time, the two opponents' social structures were still in the late stage of slave society, with extremely backward and primitive means of production, their bronze smelting techniques far inferior to those inherited from the Qin by the Dian Kingdom, so they collapsed at the first touch—no match for the Dian people.

Among the war captives were vast numbers of slaves; these prisoners and slaves became the main labor force for later constructing the royal tomb, and the murals and steles naturally exaggerated these achievements.

Yet the murals contain no description whatsoever of the royal tomb's underground palace; on one wall, the martial department depicts sacrificial rites, including heavenly divination, fortune-telling, and shamanic activities—strange beyond compare; Shirley Yang photographed these murals with her camera, saying they might prove useful later when deciphering the secret of the Hunchen Pearl.

Seeing that this rear hall was filled only with such things, Pangzi grew bored, grabbed his submachine gun, turned on his flashlight, wandered aimlessly, and suddenly discovered something in the very center surrounded by the mural walls; he hurriedly called me and Shirley Yang over to look.

It turned out that in the center of the hall's floor stood a six-legged giant bronze cauldron, its lid covered with a bronze cover, each side bearing a huge bronze ring; the cauldron's six legs were six kneeling divine beasts, their form ancient and vigorous, muscles knotted, bodies covered in scales, posed as if roaring; in appearance, they closely resemble qilin.

This bronze cauldron is extraordinarily large; for some reason, it was painted entirely black, with no patterns or decorations; in the dark palace, we noticed only the steles and murals until Pangzi wandered to the center and called us over; only upon approaching did we see it, otherwise it would not be easy to spot this giant cauldron blending into the darkness.

Pangzi tapped the cauldron's body with the butt of his MIAI gun, producing a dull echo, and asked me and Shirley Yang: "Could it be that there are too many funerary objects, and the underground palace cannot hold them all, so they are temporarily stored here? Let's open it and take a look."

Shirley Yang said: "This is likely the great cauldron prepared for boiling corpses during rituals; its mouth remains sealed to this day, indicating the Prince of Xian did not undergo corpse-liberation ascension; his remains are still in the coffin and sarcophagus of the underground palace, otherwise there would be no need to seal this great cauldron."

I said to Shirley Yang and Pangzi: "Who knows what this is for? If it were used to cook humans, cattle, and sheep as sacrificial offerings, it should be a cauldron, not a ding; besides, this probably isn't even a cauldron-like vessel—how could a ding have six legs?"

The three of us each held our own views, unable to convince the others, so we prepared to investigate thoroughly; we came here with purpose, to find the Hunchen Pearl, and will not overlook any suspicious place; the black bronze cauldron is within reach; I took from Pangzi's backpack the probing yin claw used for opening coffins, scraped off the wax sealing the cauldron's mouth, and saw on that wax layer an imprint: a criminal with a lute bone pierced by chains; since there is an imprint, it shows the cauldron has never been opened before.

After scraping clean the wax, I tested with the inch-needle on top of the probing yin claw—the cauldron's mouth had no remaining obstructions; I could simply lift the lid, so I called Pangzi to help, we grabbed the bronze rings, and as we exerted force with both arms, from the deep, deathly silent palace came a sound of "gek-gek-gek, he-he-he"—a woman's voice, but her laugh was wicked and cold, utterly ill-intentioned, icy and frosty, as if it could freeze the heart.