Chapter 222

Ming Shu's legs were agile; with a "squeak" he darted behind me: "Old Brother Hu, you... you see it? What exactly is that thing? It seems to have been following us all along, definitely not friendly." I waved my hand at Ming Shu, signaling him not to speak further, then drew my gun and aimed at the black shadow behind me, shaking my head desperately, trying to make my eyes adapt quickly from the white haze; not far away, that black shadow gradually became clear in my vision, appearing like a black hand, two sizes larger than Pangzi's head, and I felt the hand holding the gun begin to tremble; since entering the tunnel, I have unconsciously felt at a loss, not knowing why, my heart has always felt empty.

At this time Shirley Yang and Pangzi also each peeled off the tape from their left eyes, but there was a time difference; after Ming Shu, I finally became the second to clearly see what was behind the tunnel: in the white tunnel, no light source was needed to see nearby objects clearly, but in this dim fluorescent glow, the things seen in the eyes were also somewhat blurry; only saw that more than ten steps ahead of us was a tunnel arc, the slope skin inclined more noticeably, the tunnel here seemed to have been twisted by some force, forming a "8" shape; in the twisted part near the top of the "8" shape, the white wall clearly showed a huge black hand.

However, the shape of this hand was not very clear; I dared not rashly approach, only standing in place feeling around for the "Wolf Eye" flashlight, using strong light to shine on it; the flashlight's beam fell on the black hand, and it turned out that the hand was not inside the tunnel, but pasted on the outside, separated from us by a layer of tunnel wall; the white tunnel had only a very thin yet very crystalline and sturdy outer shell, at least at the top; on the immaculate, lustrous white wall. The shadow of that black hand appeared particularly striking; wherever the eye could reach, everything was white, except that the palm was a black mass, but that section of the tunnel was winding, so I could not see whether there were any other things behind it.

Could the intermittent, sometimes fast, sometimes slow footsteps in the tunnel be the sound made by that hand? But a human hand could not possibly be so huge—was it a hand or the paw of some wild beast? I remembered that along the way through the tunnel, I would occasionally feel a cool breeze pouring down from above. Possibly there were gaps every so often on the tunnel's top, through which things from above could enter the tunnel at any time; combined with the thought of the large group of "Earth Guanyin" in the underground mushroom forest, this altar vicinity certainly harbored some kind of ferocious beast, never leaving its post, guarding the forbidden land, watching every person who enters the tunnel; the closed-eye passage indicated on the stone gate relief was an instruction for the priests, while those cursed by the "Bottomless Ghost Cave" are treated here as less than human, merely a flock of sheep, cattle, pigs, and dogs—"snake bones" as sacrificial offerings.

Ming Shu, from behind, lowered his voice and quietly asked me what to do? I told him: "Better not make things awkward for yourself; this thing is following us, possibly running back and forth, it won't do anything special; I'm only saying it's possible—if you don't believe me, old man, go try it yourself, go practice a round of the Eighteen Roads Sweeping Hall Legs, see if it reacts."

At this time Shirley Yang peeled off the tape from her eyes, and gradually her vision returned; she saw the black, motionless large hand pasted on the outer side of the tunnel bend, and naturally felt astonished; I briefly explained the situation to everyone. Fortunately we judged the high-low direction correctly; otherwise, if we had turned back, we might already be lying dead in the tunnel; now there is no other choice, never mind what's behind, we can only keep moving forward.

Thus everyone, with uneasy hearts, turned and moved forward; the stone wall at the end was already near, but as soon as we took a step, we heard a "Boom!" from deep within the tunnel, like muffled thunder, and my heart also jumped; I hurriedly turned back to look, only to see another black large hand appear on the tunnel ceiling behind us; when we stopped, it became still again, but obviously, in the moment we moved forward, it also took a step along with us; the tunnel conducted sound exceptionally well, the audio was especially shocking—"Thunder Strike Mountain" might have gotten its name this way.

To ignore its real existence is not easy; now that I opened my eyes, I felt even more panicked; when the eyes were taped, at least I could still comfort myself—those were just sounds from inside the stone; but now I clearly know something is truly following behind us, yet I still have to deliberately pretend not to see it, which is really difficult.

Pangzi said, we now resemble the guerrillas in Yugoslav films being escorted to the execution ground, with Nazi SS officers following behind—don't you feel that way?

I said Pangzi, your analogy is very inappropriate; you're not cursing us to go and never return, are you? If we were to say we're like Song Jiang and Dai Zong at the Jiangzhou execution ground, that would still be about right, and we could still hope for the black-market comrades, like the "White Waves in the Flood" types, to come and raid the execution ground.

At this time everyone's mood was quite oppressive; although I and Pangzi pretended on the surface not to care too much, I knew in my heart that this road might truly be a one-way trip; when the moment came, instead I calmed down, looked at the stone wall I had been feeling for a while— the tunnel had indeed reached its end, all around the walls were symbols with eyes wide open, and all the crystal stones here had twisted at an unimaginable angle; although natural formation could be described as supernatural craftsmanship, myriad forms, the terrain here was still exceptionally special.

A large chunk of flower-white rock shaped like a twisted doughnut protruded from the ground over a meter high, impossible to describe its shape—somewhat square, somewhat round, some places like complex geometric figures; the stone body was thoroughly twisted, not in one direction—some parts clockwise, some counterclockwise—so touching it felt like a twisted doughnut; outside were some black, fragmented rotten wood chips, possibly there used to be a wooden structure surrounding this strange stone, which one could climb up by stepping on it.

I gripped the top and peered inside; this turned out to be the mouth of a slanted shaft, deep inside a white haze with no end; inside the mouth there were steps, but they were almost worn into a slope; formerly who knows how many enslaved prisoners were driven down from here as sacrifices.

After discussion, everyone said: let's go, even if it's the eighteenth level of hell we must descend; this calamity cannot be avoided anyway; so Pangzi tightened his climbing helmet and remaining gear, and again he led the way; I saw his posture climbing up was awkward, but before I could remind him, Pangzi had already plunged headfirst down the slope.

Then came Ming Shu, Shirley Yang, and Axiang, who followed down one after another. Inside the white tunnel only I remained; I instantly felt empty and lonely, I didn't like this feeling, so I hurriedly climbed back up the shaft mouth; before descending, I bowed my head and glanced at the black handprint deep in the tunnel, and suddenly realized— I don't know when, but between the two hands a faint facial outline had appeared, the contours of nose and mouth discernible. But this face only had the lower half, lacking eyes and forehead.

The black face in the crystal stone became increasingly clear, as if it were not outside but inside the tunnel's stone; the upper part of the face was also gradually emerging; just as I was about to see its eyes clearly, I became overly tense, the stone under my feet too slippery, I lost my footing and slid down the slope while lying on it.

The passage below was spacious, like an inverted funnel—narrow at the top, wide at the bottom, resembling an extremely thick underground natural crystal cavern; overall arc-shaped, slope about forty-five degrees; at the start there were some slightly raised steps, on the downward slope there were countless artificially chiseled simple stone grooves, used for those descending to step on; shallow and slippery, plus severe wear, most were nearly flattened; once you slid down it was like riding a slide, before reaching the end it was hard to stop. I lay face down on the ground and slid with the momentum; the crystal stones in the cavern were smoother than a mirror surface, my own shadows everywhere in all directions, plus the high sliding speed, my eyes were about to blur.

I worried that if there were protruding stone steps below, they might break my ribcage; I hurriedly turned over, using my half-empty backpack behind me as padding; when encountering overly smooth places, I swung the ice axe to slow down; I slid down an unknown depth, the crystal slope finally eased; I had just slid out of the cavern when I discovered only Axiang and Shirley Yang were standing at the mouth, Pangzi and Ming Shu were gone.

Shirley Yang, hearing the sound from the side, hurriedly turned and grabbed my arm to cancel my sliding inertia; I saw that a few meters ahead the terrain turned into a downward right angle; my heart sank—Pangzi and Ming Shu, did they fall off the cliff below? Not minding the soreness from bumps, I got up and first looked at Shirley Yang's face, hoping to get from her gaze the news that those two were safe; Shirley Yang's face showed worry, she shook her head at me; she came down after Pangzi and Ming Shu, and due to inertia she also nearly fell down below, luckily she was quick-handed and quick-eyed, used the ice axe to hook a nearby large mica sheet, avoiding a direct fall, then she also stopped Axiang who was coming down behind her, only arriving one minute before me.

I became even more worried, rushed to the stratum cross-section to check; only saw we were in an astonishingly large crystal cavern, the dome tens of meters high constantly seeping water droplets, the underground lake hung above the head, crystal veins crisscrossed, above the head were clusters of downward-pointing crystals; when a person moved below, above there would be no-deceit shadows following and swaying wildly, as if entering an inverted mirror maze; we stood on a platform at the entrance, below was endless white mist—these like white fog, like water vapor, were stone smoke produced by crystal bodies decomposing due to orogenic movement, lower density than crystal dust, odorless and tasteless, condensed but not dispersed, moreover maintaining a constant height, dividing the cavern from middle into two layers, cutting it into two floors; below was like a lake formed by gathered white clouds, since the below situation was invisible, being blocked by the stone smoke, making the cavern appear flat and wide, though not particularly oppressive.

In this sea of clouds floated a mountain body like yellow jade; the platform at the entrance and the summit of the jade mountain were connected by a stone stem suspended in midair—that was a semi-fossil, semi-plant-like thick vine, fashioned into a passage trestle; I stepped on it, still quite sturdy, able to bear human weight; standing on it looking down, cloud grew at the soles, fundamentally unable to see the terrain below—was it an abyss? a pond? or like the overhead, dense crystal bodies? Pangzi and Ming Shu these two certainly did not stop, they must have fallen down below; I asked Axiang if she could see below, but her eyes, due to the tape, were swollen from tears, looking at people was blurry, let alone anything else; now there was nothing to hope for from her.

I and Shirley Yang shouted down several times, no response, only increasing my worry; just as I was thinking where to go down to find people, I suddenly heard Pangzi's shout from beneath the cloud layer: "Commander Hu, quickly lower the rope to pull me up, my leg muscles are torn to eight pieces by his mother."

Hearing Pangzi say that, I immediately felt relieved; from the sound I could judge it wasn't too deep below; we were on the trestle; the distance from Pangzi's head to us wasn't far; I said to Pangzi: "Where am I to get you a rope? Now looking for tree bark to twist one won't make it in time; can't you find a place to climb up yourself? By the way, how's Ming Shu? Did he also fall down below?"

Only heard Pangzi shout from under the heavy stone smoke: "The climbing helmet from Gangnong fell off, his head smashed into the crystal below—who knows if he's dead or alive; this place has a layer of cloud in the middle, below it's all ghostly mirror-like stone; I move my arm and everything in all directions shakes with me; I can't even find the road now, I bump into walls with any movement, let alone find a place to climb out. I say you hurry and find a rope; when Ming Shu fell down he nearly shattered this place; maybe soon we'll have to sink into the lake to feed the turtles."

Hearing Ming Shu's head had hit the stone and that there was a collapse danger below, I knew the situation was bad, but the climbing rope had been lost along the way—where could I get a pure rope?

Shirley Yang suddenly thought of using the "load-bearing belt" and "combat belt" carried on our gear; everyone has them, they can be taken apart and linked together, and they're strong enough; so she hurriedly got to work, lowered the load-bearing belt, then let Pangzi attach all his and Ming Shu's ropes and belts—anything sturdy—to our belts. First hoisted Pangzi's backpack and rifle up, then trussed up Ming Shu and lifted him up.

Ming Shu's face was covered in blood; I reached out and touched it—it didn't feel like blood, so I immediately exclaimed: "Damn it, Ming Shu has kicked the bucket, his brain juice is all flowing out." Axiang, hearing her foster father's brain juice was flowing out, felt her nose sour and burst into tears.

Shirley Yang said: "Don't talk nonsense, this is just blood; hemoglobin is beginning to change, he still has a heartbeat, maybe he just got knocked unconscious; better to bandage him first and then talk."

While bandaging Ming Shu I advised Axiang: "Don't cry, losing this much blood won't kill a person—at most a mild concussion... slight concussion."

Pangzi down below waited anxiously: "I say you guys still care about me or not? If you're going to mourn Ming Shu, at least haul me up first—we could all cry together, how nice would that be?"

Only then did I realize Pangzi's physique was nothing like Ming Shu's; trying to hoist him up wouldn't be that easy; so I lowered the load-bearing belt: "I can't pull you up by myself, only able to assist; you need to exert your own initiative."

Pangzi down below tugged the rope and shouted: "Although I'm full of that so-called initiative, I'm not a jet plane—I can't just jump straight up."

I pulled the load-bearing belt toward the stone wall beside the stone stem trestle; Pangzi now had directional guidance, he alternately high and low crawled in the bottom, emerged from the crystal maze, grabbed onto the recessed and protruding spots on the stone wall, plus I and Shirley Yang pulled him up from above; finally he climbed up; that fall just now was not light—although wearing knee and elbow guards, his tailbone hurt terribly, he couldn't recover for half a day.

Ming Shu's bleeding there had also stopped; I felt his pulse, still fairly steady; but if we don't hurry to the altar to lift the curse on our bodies, I fear he will be the first to kick the bucket; so-called shared fate, I also cannot abandon him; thus everyone caught their breath, then Pangzi carried Ming Shu on his back, stepped onto the cloud-suspended trestle, and walked up the pale yellow stone peak; the terrain here was a very neat semicircle, the top line of flag clouds fluttering unpredictably, giving a sense of mystery in the vast and illusory void; in the crystal veins above, ghost-fire-like lights occasionally flickered, appearing and disappearing, numbering in the hundreds; looking afar, brilliant as the Milky Way.

On the pale yellow pearl-shaped mountain, the slightly darker areas vaguely resembled an ancient five-contemplation figure, but impossible to be man-made; up close one could not discern the geological structure of the stone peak, resembling sage, also resembling fossil; occasionally one could still hear the clear, tinkling sound of flowing water from deep below; the Dragon-Seeking Manual describes the ancestral dragon's crown having a "dragon elixir"—it seems not idle talk; this underground strange peak might just be the "dragon elixir" of condensed vital energy in the eyes of feng shui masters.

I occasionally looked back at the situation behind me; that thing in the white tunnel was obviously stopped at the end, not having followed us in, but the way back was completely cut off; but now I couldn't waste time thinking about how to deal with it when returning, and moreover, the last scene I saw in the tunnel I hadn't told everyone, lest I increase their pressure further.

Heaven's beam and earth's end reached straight into the mountain's belly; interior space not large; on the ground were two water pools, on the walls carved ferocious evil ghosts; on both sides stood dozens of ancient, weathered white stone statues, slightly taller than average persons, each holding a large sea-bowl-like stone basin; I recalled the human-skin wall painting depicting the ritual where eyeballs were gouged out and placed in such vessels; so I looked into those stone basins, but found nothing.

Seeing the place, Pangzi set Ming Shu down on the ground to rest; Ming Shu at this time woke up, but seemed a bit mentally unclear, speaking nonsense, shaking his head at any question without answering, not even recognizing his own foster daughter.

In the altar there were still several smaller caves, religious mystery extremely strong; I took out the Human King's head, namely that "Phoenix Gallbladder," and asked Shirley Yang if she had found how to use it? Nights long, dreams many; better to settle this life-or-death matter as soon as possible.

Shirley Yang was staring at a place; all around were strange, bizarre carvings; on the ground was a human-shaped depression, limbs spread open, seemingly an execution site; after years and days of too many killings, soaked in accumulated blood, the stone groove had turned from pale yellow to dark red; looking at it gave a feeling of cruelty.

I asked Shirley Yang twice before she came to; her face was very bad, she took several deep breaths but still said nothing, pointing at those stone slabs, indicating I should look myself.

Although I am not very familiar with these ancient mysterious rituals of the world, the carvings here were very straightforward—I could even see eight or nine out of ten; after just a few glances I also felt my breathing begin to grow difficult; I then waited before the dark red human-shaped stone groove and asked Shirley Yang: "To hold the ritual, at least one living person must be killed as a sacrifice; without this sacrificial victim, none of us can possibly leave alive; but who can be casually sacrificed? Do we have to draw lots for life and death?"