Chapter 217

Main text Chapter 219 Pill Bug

In this vast underground space, countless large mayflies dance above the water; their lives are very short. After the water larvae grow wings, they can only live in the air for about a few minutes. At this point their bodies scatter a special fluorescent powder, and even after death they continue to glow for a while, so the whole underground is shrouded in a layer of mysterious white fluorescent mist.

As time underground passed, our eyes gradually adapted to this dim subterranean fluorescence, and the surroundings were no longer as blurry as at the start. I looked down at the soft, large meadow below, which looked like an umbrella or a canopy, with a whitish centre and black surroundings—it was indeed a rare giant mushroom, its diameter no less than twenty metres.

This fungus grows abundantly in damp underground areas. Seeing the giant mushroom beneath us, I and Pangzi immediately recalled when we were sent down to the Greater Khingan Range to collect wood ears; after a recent rain, we actually saw a mushroom taller than the mountains growing in the mountain gorge, towering sky-high in the forest. We were astonished, and the villagers said it was an "Emperor Mushroom"; if lucky, one could see one or two each August. But this thing grows fast and rots fast—just seen in the morning, it might be gone by noon. Moreover, forests where Emperor Mushrooms grow are dangerous, because its smell is too conspicuous, and besides, different colors mean different properties; being rare, few know its details, so when people see it they pretend not to see it, neither daring to eat nor touch it, and simply detour around.

Pangzi and I discussed that this mushroom wasn't as large as the ones we'd seen in the Greater Khingan Range, but it wasn't small either. It must be the same kind of Emperor Mushroom, having rolled down the scree slope beside the underground lake; climbing back up would be nearly impossible—the slope is too steep, and one slip leaves no foothold, so we had to climb down from this Emperor Mushroom first.

We were washed into the underground by the water from that sieve‑like cavern ceiling and got separated from the others; what I worried about most was the "striped flood dragon". In a melee at the bottom of the Wind‑eroded Lake, one of the two striped flood dragons seemed to have been crushed by a falling thousand‑catty stone eye, but the other remained, and the white‑bearded fish king as well were likely swept into the underground lake by the torrent; if Shirley Yang, Ming Shu, or A Xiang ran into them, it would surely be more bad luck than good.

Thinking of this, Pangzi and I dared not delay, ignoring our aches, we climbed from the top of the Emperor Mushroom to its edge and looked down at the terrain. Beneath the towering Emperor Mushroom grew countless uneven ground fungi, varied in colour and size; looking down it resembled a mushroom forest, with many dragonfly‑like large mayflies fluttering about like white ghosts.

In the distance lay the second level of the underground lake. When I first fell into the lake, I felt the eastward current was very strong; it turned out that the huge cavern's underground lake is divided into two layers with a great drop. On the dome‑like cavern ceiling above are countless openings, large ones several metres wide, small ones less than a metre; the lake water above and the groundwater from the mountains all pour down through those openings, and all the water columns flow into the upper underground lake. This place is a sloping pot‑bottom; the eastern side is lower, so when this layer fills it forms a great water curtain that pours down into the lower underground lake. That lake is even larger, and in the areas of strong current there is no fluorescence, appearing as patches of black and white, making its full extent hard to discern.

If the others are still alive, they are very likely to have been swept by the current into the second level of the underground lake; the Emperor Mushroom grows not far from that second level. From our high vantage we tried to spot the missing Shirley Yang and the others from above, but we only saw occasional large fish leaping in the water—no human silhouette. I told Pangzi to stay here and keep watch, while I would go down and first circle the lake's edge.

Just as I was about to stab the mushroom with a paratrooper knife and descend, I saw a person swimming up from the lake below; though I couldn't make out the face, the build suggested it was Ming Shu. I saw Ming Shu climb ashore, walk a few steps with effort, look around, then head straight into the mushroom forest beneath the Emperor Mushroom; from his appearance he also seemed to want to climb higher to survey the terrain.

I said to Pangzi, 'This old harbour farmer's life is really tough.' Since he's heading this way, let Pangzi temporarily look after him while I go to the lakeside to find the other two. We'll finally meet up near this most conspicuous Emperor Mushroom.

I was about to move down when I suddenly sensed something happening: I saw Ming Shu walk ten or so metres among the tall and short mushrooms, probably from combined fright and over‑exertion; his feet couldn't move, he stumbled and fell face‑first into the dirt, lay on the ground, turned over, and rubbed his arm for a long time without getting up—it seemed he had a defeatist thought, planning to just die like that, really not wanting to move.

Although Ming Shu's fall shouldn't have been a big deal, his heavy weight disturbed something nearby. Pangzi and I, from our high point in the dim light, saw the patch of mushrooms not far from him suddenly stir; inside, a wholly black‑shelled creature was slowly writhing, its shell made of overlapping arcs, its body very long. My heart skipped—uh‑oh, it looks like a giant centipede; if it really is a centipede, how huge must it be?

Ming Shu lay spread‑eagle on the ground, opening and closing his mouth as if muttering to himself, perhaps blaming heaven and earth, but he was completely unaware of the nearby danger. Pangzi and I wanted to shout a warning from the Emperor Mushroom, but our voices were drowned out by the sound of the water flow; unless we spoke close by, they couldn't be heard.

My shotgun had been lost in the melee at the bottom of the Wind‑eroded Lake, leaving only my pistol; Pangzi's gear was mostly intact, his rifle always slung on his back. When he raised the rifle to shoot, I grabbed its barrel—the rifle's range could reach far, but its calibre was insufficient; firing here would be useless, and even shooting near Ming Shu to warn him might not save him. Once he saw that giant centipede, he'd surely go weak‑legged and couldn't take a step, so I had to rush down to rescue him. But the mushroom forest was thick with mushrooms; from above we could see Ming Shu and the centipede, yet going down our view would be blocked. We needed Pangzi as a lookout up high, using hand signals to indicate the complex terrain to me, and providing covering fire with his rifle at critical moments.

Of course this was a race against time; there was no chance to deploy those plans. I only told Pangzi, 'Follow my signal,' then I stuck the paratrooper knife into the Emperor Mushroom and slid down its sloping cap. Below were also some very tall mushrooms, arranged in terraces; where the slope was too steep to stand, I used the knife to brake, and quickly reached the bottom. Here there was no rocky ground—just a thick layer of finger‑sized tiny mushrooms, with larger mushrooms over a metre long nearby.

I glanced back at Pangzi above; he had his rifle slung across his chest and was waving both arms, sending navy‑style semaphore signals—something we'd learned in Fujian. It was simple and intuitive: from his motions I could see that the other party was moving slowly, and then he indicated the direction.

I waved my arm at him to acknowledge the signal. At that moment a thin mist appeared in the mushroom forest; I worried the centipede might release poisonous gas, so I pulled a gas mask from my pack and put it on. Gripping the MI911 with both hands, I lowered the muzzle and hurried toward Ming Shu's position.

After Pangzi indicated a few directions, I found Ming Shu lying on the ground; not far away came a 'chi‑chi‑cha‑cha' sound—not loud, but like countless claws scrabbling, making one feel uneasy, and with the water noise already weak, it was especially nerve‑racking.

I crept up, intending to grab Ming Shu and pull him up, then run immediately; but when Ming Shu saw the gas mask he jumped, then realized it was one of us, stared with vacant eyes, gave me a weak smile, and tried to crawl up—yet his legs seemed to have turned to noodles, unresponsive. Eager to leave this perilous area, I gave him a silencing gesture, indicating he should make no sound, then hoisted him onto my back.

But before I could take a step, Ming Shu behind me suddenly burst into loud laughter; my heart sank half‑way—this damned old harbour farmer had no good intentions! How could an old capitalist under imperialist colonial rule be a good person? I'd been far too careless.

I immediately sprang my legs backward, falling onto my back and pressing Ming Shu beneath me, putting all my strength into it—enough to nearly kill the old harbour farmer—but his laughter didn't stop, his voice already a little hoarse, and that laugh was ten times more grating than a woman's wail.

I thought this harbour farmer, on the brink of death, still laughing aloud, and recalled a line of poetry: 'The devil's palace trembles in laughter.' Damn it, laughing loudly before death is a revolutionary's privilege—what right does an old capitalist have to laugh? Let him taste the proletarian iron fists of Old Hu, let him experience dictatorship—see if he can still laugh. But then I realized Ming Shu's laughter wasn't because he wanted to laugh.

I hastily pressed the gun barrel to Ming Shu's head and saw that he was laughing so hard he couldn't breathe, his whole body twitching, white foam at his mouth; if he kept laughing he'd likely die—he had been poisoned.

I looked around and saw that where Ming Shu had just fallen there were clumps of unusual small mushrooms, coated with a layer of green powder; he had probably licked a bit of it when he fell face‑first. This must be the laughing mushroom? That powder is so potent that a tiny amount in the mouth causes this reaction—laughing like this for just a few minutes could be fatal.

Thinking quickly, I gave Ming Shu a few hard slaps to the ears, then produced the Northern Mystic Pearl and held it under his nose; its scent is extremely intense, and after he sniffed it he sneezed violently, which finally stopped his laughter—but his facial muscles were locked in a spasm from laughing, he couldn't recover at once and kept twitching, snot and tears streaming down his face, utterly wretched.

At that moment a rifle bullet struck a mushroom near me; I snapped my head back and, through the thin hazy mist, saw Pangzi on the Emperor Mushroom continually raising and lowering his rifle, as if signalling me to withdraw quickly.

A nearby patch of large mushrooms shuddered, and the giant centipede with a fully black carapace burst out, exactly where Ming Shu lay; I hurriedly stepped back a few steps, ripped off my gas mask, first gave Pangzi on the Emperor Mushroom a signal not to fire, then panickedly told Ming Shu: 'Ming Shu, that centipede behind you is probably going to eat you—you sacrificed yourself to save me, I'll never forget it; when I get home I'll burn extra paper money for you, you died saving others and will surely attain Buddhahood—I congratulate you first.'

Ming Shu stared, dazed, and quickly turned his head to look behind him—his eyes rolled back and he was about to faint; I hurriedly pulled him up and said, 'All right, no more joking with you, old man—as soon as that thing showed its head I knew it wasn't a centipede but a giant pill bug that lives underground, a vegetarian monk; back when our master dug in the Kunlun Mountains we unearthed who knows how many of them—it's quite common.'

Ming Shu, hearing me, finally examined the creature behind him: a five‑to‑six‑metre‑long arthropod pill bug, a fat, thick‑bodied giant beetle with a pair of curved, hard antennae in front for sensing the path, its body entirely black except for white feet, and beneath its stout torso it also had centipede‑like legs; the creature is rather stupid, feeding only on underground fungi.

Uncle Ming let out a long breath, wiped his sweat, this old life of his had basically been snatched back from the gates of hell again, he forced a bitter smile at me, I asked him if he had seen Shirley Yang and A Xiang?

Mingshu was about to answer when suddenly we heard a scratching sound of claws; we turned our heads and saw that the nearby "Wanxia" had curled its body into a ball, its segmented round-arc carapace wrapping it like a large tire; the veins on my forehead bulged—this was a defensive posture, meaning there must be some huge threat nearby. I looked up at Pangzi high above; Pangzi no longer needed flag signals, he swung his arm in one motion: "Danger, run back quickly!"