Chapter 69: Main Text Chapter Seventy Width

Main Text Chapter Seventy Width

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I didn't have time to discuss the subtleties in detail with Da Jin Ya and Pangzi; I just told them to follow my lead. Then, according to the principle of the 'Dun' volume in the Sixteen-Character Yin-Yang Feng Shui Secret Technique, I roughly laid out the eight trigrams with glutinous rice, substituted 23 for ziwu, and calculated the steps, but the Zhouyi eight trigrams are extremely difficult; I lack talent in this area, and although I know some principles, I simply cannot work it out.

My head felt like it had grown several sizes from all the calculating; the more I calculated, the more confused I became. It seems I really am not cut out for this. I felt anxious and couldn't calm down; nobody could help me at this point. Pangzi is decent with money, and although Da Jin Ya is shrewd in business, numerology is not his forte.

Finally I said to Pangzi and Da Jin Ya, "Let's just stop wasting our brains. Since we know the principle of the soul‑suspending ladder is to use the change in height difference, with a special reference object to make us go in circles, it's easy to cope. I think, if we're clumsy, we have clumsy tricks; we might as well just roll straight down."

Pangzi says: "Lao Hu, you were just confident you could figure it out, weren't you? Why did you change your mind now? Is your brain not up to the task? I already said we should roll down, but what if we don't roll all the way to the bottom? Can you guarantee that rolling down will definitely work?"

I said to Pangzi, "Yeah, you were just planning to roll down a moment ago, weren't you? How did you waver again? Rolling down is victory; listen to me, I'm not wrong." But as soon as the words left my mouth, I instantly lost confidence. The angle of this Western Zhou ghost tomb's soul‑suspending ladder is extremely weird; this route also won't work.

At this moment the candle beside us burned down to the wick. The small candles we bought in Ancient Field can burn at most a little over an hour. Da Jin Ya, afraid of the dark, quickly fetched another candle to relight, but then he suddenly said, "Ah, Lord Hu, I just thought of something."

Pangzi says: "Old Jin, why do you always pull this stunt? If you have something to say, just say it all at once; don't keep startling us like this, okay?"

Da Jin Ya says: "I really got scared silly today; my brain has only just recovered a bit. I once heard our family's old master mention this kind of mechanism, but it's not the same—that's a straight passage, like a maze; standing inside, it always looks like a single path. Actually, drawing circles with seven twists and eight turns, I also know an old man who isn't a grave robber, but he possesses an ancestral Sui‑dynasty 'Divine Craft Manual'. I wanted to buy it, but he didn't sell; still I have seen that book, which mentions this kind of underground palace labyrinth, with a diagram that looks like several Arabic numerals 8 intertwined. I don't know whether that labyrinth is the same as the soul‑suspending ladder we are currently in."

I said to Da Jin Ya, "I know that kind of labyrinth too; its principle is similar, but every place adapts to local conditions, so size and form vary with terrain. To get out you must be able to deduce the hexagrams, but the problem is we can't figure them out."

Da Jin Ya says: "I've never heard of a soul‑suspending ladder, but that old man told me this kind of soul‑hooking labyrinth fell out of use after the Zhou dynasty, because its solution is extremely simple—it can't really trap anyone."

I and Pangzi heard him say that, but we didn't pay attention to his words; such a complicated labyrinth—how could it be broken?

Da Jin Ya says: "Actually, breaking it is not hard at all. This place plays tricks with reference objects; at intervals it deliberately or inadvertently makes a mark. Once you notice those marks, you are led onto a side path that deviates from the correct direction. The steps are cut at an angle unlike usual, the crossbars slope slightly downward, and some parts are level while others are raised, which disperses attention to changes in angle, making shifts in weight and balance hard to notice. Consequently, walking blindfolded with eyes closed actually makes it easier to get out."

Pangzi says to Da Jin Ya: "Oh damn, that's truly a word that awakens the dreamer. If we blindfold ourselves and walk down, not counting steps or looking at marks, we might just bump our way out."

But I think this method is absolutely unworkable; what Da Jin Ya said is an even more foolish approach. Although this soul‑suspending ladder mainly confuses people by limiting visibility, the height differences of the steps are also exquisitely subtle—relying on feeling alone definitely won't work. We still don't know the scale of this 'soul‑suspending ladder'; heaven only knows how long it is. Moreover, we have spent so much time going back and forth on it, we don't know how many round trips we've made. Walking down with eyes closed—when in a donkey's year and horse's month could we possibly get out?

But damn it, why are we out of options? Thinking of the infuriating situation, I couldn't help but punch the nearby stone wall, and suddenly it hit me: this soul‑suspending ladder is meant to deal with lone grave robbers. We have three people, so we can't use its length, but we can use its width.

I told Da Jin Ya and Pangzi the idea I had come up with; they both nodded repeatedly. This really is a method, because the steps are over ten meters wide. A person in the middle only looks for the crescent marks on the ground, and being in total darkness, they can't see the stone walls on either side, so they unknowingly follow those marks off course into a branch. Even if they walk close to one wall, it's no good—they'd still be swept into the eight‑shaped path, losing all sense of direction.

But if all three of us light candles and line up side by side, with the two people near each wall keeping a certain visual safety distance from the center, and we check in with each other after each step, then as we slowly descend, whenever we encounter a branch we mark the entire staircase. After a few hours, there would be no reason we couldn't get out.

So we three followed the plan, drawing a rough sketch on paper and marking every step on it. If we ran into a branch, we made a clear sign—first with glutinous rice, then with cigarette ash when the rice ran out. Indeed, after going only a short distance downhill we found a concealed branch. We then marked the whole staircase with visible signs of glutinous rice and cigarette butts, recorded them clearly on the sketch, and continued onward. We kept walking, stopping, and recording; the map grew larger and larger, indeed crisscrossing, and the most intense section was where two vortices converged.

This "soul‑suspending ladder" makes clever use of a natural cavern; it's actually not that large. If it were a large troop, the ladder would be useless, but with only one or two people who can't take advantage of its width, they easily fall deep into it—unless they carry sufficient lighting equipment, placing a full row of candles on each stone step; otherwise, just looking for the crescent marks on the steps leads to certain death, the deeper they go. Moreover, the steps are made of extremely hard material; without sharp tools it's hard to make additional marks on them.

The steps are gray, but they are obviously coated with a secret substance that actually absorbs light. Thinking of the ingenuity of ancient Chinese people, it truly inspires awe—no one can refuse to admit it.

Actually, such secret formulas and materials were plentiful in ancient China, but they were monopolized by the royal nobility. They were not used for public works like building bridges or paving roads to improve people's livelihood; instead they were employed to consolidate their rule, or to design the tombs guarding the royal mausolea. At that time, these secrets were always the privilege of a few.

Judging by the scale, we had completed about two‑fifths of the map when our feet finally met no more steps; we had returned to the underworld palace, and that human‑face stone coffin still stood silently in the southeast corner of the underworld palace.

I checked my watch; we had spent four and a half hours tossing about on the soul‑suspending ladder, and it was now around three in the afternoon. After eating our last meal at nine in the morning, we hadn't eaten anything else, our stomachs were empty and growling. I had thought that once we entered the robber's tunnel and handled the grave goods in the underworld palace we could leave, but who would have imagined we'd run into all these complications and still encounter a Western Zhou era "ghost tomb".

This incident fully exposed our blind optimism. I have resolved firmly that we must never again undertake anything without full preparation. Although fighting unprepared is a fine tradition of our army, it is clearly unsuitable for the grave‑robbing trade, where battle relies on courage and wit, but grave‑robbing demands a clear mind, rich experience, perfect skill, excellent gear, and ample preparation—none of which can be lacking.

The central floor tile of the underworld palace had been lifted and piled to one side; that was exactly the robber's tunnel we entered through. Earlier we found that the tunnel below had already become the bottom layer of the Western Zhou ghost tomb's ancient grave, a passage leading to the sacrificial trench.

The underworld palace was pitch black all around. Out of habit I lit a candle in its southeast corner, but this was already the last candle we had brought into the tomb. Its tiny flame burned straight upward, bringing a faint light into the gloomy underground palace of the tomb; though small, it made us feel much more at ease.

The three of us gazed at the candle on the floor, exhaled a sigh of relief, survived the ordeal, feeling triumphant, and burst out laughing. I said to Da Jin Ya and Pangzi, "How about it? In the end it still comes down to Old Hu's skill—this little place couldn't possibly trap us."

Pangzi says: "The credit also belongs big‑time to me and Old Jin; without the two of us, could you even make it down on your own? You've barely gotten anywhere and you're already starting to swell with pride."

I laughed heartily, but as I laughed I suddenly felt something missing and couldn't keep laughing.

Where did the two white geese I had been leading go? I had rushed away from the soul‑suspending ladder, and in my haste I didn't notice. I asked Pangzi, "Wasn't I supposed to have you lead them? Where did they go? Did you forget them on the ladder?"

Pangzi swore to heaven: "I definitely brought them back to the underworld palace; just a moment ago I was happy and let go. Damn, in the blink of an eye where did they run? They probably didn't go far—let's split up and look for them quickly, because if they get far away they'll be hard to catch."

The two missing white geese, if they were still in the underworld palace, would already be extremely hard to find; if they had run to the grand, splendid front hall with its massive pavilions, it would be even worse. The key is that we are few in number and lack large‑scale lighting gear—feeling our way in the dark, where could we search?

Without the geese we can't escape the encirclement of the ghost tomb. The underworld palace is so vast—where could they have run? We were about to search in all directions when we suddenly heard a strange sound coming from the human‑face stone coffin. This noise abruptly appeared in the empty, silent underground palace, making our ear bones ache.