Chapter 9: Main Text Chapter Nine Nine-story Demon Tower

Main Text Chapter Nine Nine-story Demon Tower

The mountain crevice we fell into is narrow and deep; beyond the flashlight's beam it's pitch black, limited by visibility, so we don't know what terrain lies ahead.

Da Gezi felt Liu Gong's breath with his hand, then shook his hand and said, 'It's over, it's over, there's no breath left.'

I crawled over and felt Liu Gong's carotid artery; he was indeed dead, no heartbeat, so I sighed and told Da Gezi, 'Let's bury Liu Gong.'

I took out an entrenching shovel to dig a pit, but Ga Wa stopped me, pointing at the ground and saying, 'Bugs, fire.'

Ga Wa's reminder made me recall that in the valley we had tried to dig a grave for the engineer who fell to his death, only to uncover a devilish ladybug; our squad of fourteen lost ten in those few terrifying minutes, so it seems the ground here cannot be dug at random—who knows what else lies below.

I have a feeling that those strange bugs are not just some mysterious creature; after burning two people, one split into three—is that just coincidence? I can't figure it out no matter how I think.

But we can't just leave our comrade's corpse out in the open; we had to improvise. I used the flashlight for light, and Ga Wa and Da Gezi gathered some broken stones to cover Liu Gong's body, making a simple stone tomb for him.

Throughout this process, Luo Ning sat motionless on the ground, silently staring at Liu Gong's stone tomb, until she could no longer hold back and burst into a wail, the grief pent up in her heart flooding out like a breached dam.

I wanted to comfort her, but I really didn't know what to say; her sobbing moved me, my nose grew sour and my heart felt cut by knives, recalling how last night the squad had gathered around the campfire singing military songs, that stirring melody still echoing in my ears, yet today most of our comrades lie forever in the great glacier of Kunlun Mountain.

I helped Luo Ning to her feet, and we observed a moment of silence for Liu Gong and our fallen comrades. At that time, whatever the occasion, we would quote Mao's Selected Works; I led the recitation: 'All the sky is white, marching in the snow makes the situation even more urgent.'

The other three also chimed in: 'Heaven above, earth below, the wind bears the red flag past the great pass. Only with many sacrifices can ambitions be grand, daring to have the sun and moon change the heavens.'

Then everyone raised their right fists in oath: 'May the great leader Chairman Mao live forever, live forever; may Chairman Mao's close comrade Lin Biao enjoy good health, eternal health. Comrades, friends, go forth without worry—some deaths are lighter than a feather, some heavier than Mount Tai; to die for the people's benefit is heavier than Mount Tai, and you have sacrificed for the people's benefit. We must inherit the legacy of revolutionary martyrs, tread in the bloody footprints you left, carry the proletarian cultural revolution to the end, and final victory will forever belong to the workers, peasants, and soldiers.'

Back then I was just a green recruit, never having attended a comrade's memorial service, so I didn't know what to say; I only remembered that people spoke that way in meetings, and in that situation there was no distinction between appropriate and inappropriate.

After a long while, everyone calmed down from the pain, treated their wounds—luckily they were only minor and didn't hinder movement. We ate a few bites of compressed biscuits, gathered together, and discussed what to do next; exiting the valley pinned by the snow slab is impossible, I estimate the whole valley may have been filled by the avalanche, so we must find another way out.

Ga Wa patted his empty ammo pouch, indicating we were low on bullets; when we entered the mountains we had to carry lots of gear, so ammunition was issued at the bare minimum—three rifle magazines each, since it wasn't a combat mission and there were no bandits around, we had been a bit careless. During the avalanche we also tossed away some ammo; now each person has about twenty rounds left, with two hand grenades total. There shouldn't be any wild beasts underground, extra ammo would be useless—just enough for self-defense.

We have no dry rations left; we just ate what was edible, and we must find an exit within two days or we'll starve to death down here. The one piece of good fortune in this misfortune is that Luo Ning actually still has a compass.

The depth of the mountain fissure exceeds imagination; after walking south for a stretch we reached the end, and the earth's crack turned north, feeling as if we had arrived beneath the great glacier.

We walked forward in the dark for ten-odd hours; the lower we went, the larger the underground space became. Luo Ning measured with a barometer, converting the pressure to altitude, and it came out to only over four hundred meters—about the same as Sichuan, far below the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau's average altitude of over four thousand meters. If we keep going this way, we might end up at the earth's core.

Finally the terrain leveled off, and we heard a rushing water sound, suggesting a large underground river not far away. Seeing no more downhill path, I swept the flashlight around, looking for a way up, and suddenly noticed the beam casting many weak reflections on the rock wall, like light shattering on countless mirror fragments.

Luo Ning exclaimed, 'It's mica!'

The other three, hearing her say 'mica' and not knowing what it was, but detecting her alarmed tone, thought an emergency had arisen; they quickly shielded Luo Ning behind them, snatched their Type 56 semi-automatic rifles from their backs, and racked the bolts with a clatter, ready to fire.

Luo Ning wondered, 'What are you doing?'

I asked Luo Ning while keeping my gun at the ready, 'What kind of mother/father? Where is it?'

Luo Ning said, 'It's not an animal; I mean the surroundings are all crystals—mica and quartz usually grow in the same stratum, and indeed there is quartz as well.'

Although Luo Ning's main duty is mapmaking, she often works with geological survey teams and knows a fair amount about geology and minerals. The glass‑sheet‑like crystals around us are a monoclinic crystal that appears only in Archean bifacial rock layers; while Hebei's underground has large reserves, the mica here is extremely dark, forming large hexagonal columns. Its quality far surpasses that of mica from Ling Shou County in inland Hebei, and from the depth of its color we can tell our location is unfathomably deep.

Luo Ning was drawn to the rare large mica all around, examining this piece and that; I idly picked up a small fragment and looked at it, but saw nothing remarkable about it.

Just then Da Gezi shouted at Ga Wa, 'Lamu Cuo, what are you doing? Get up quickly.'

I shone the flashlight and saw Ga Wa kowtowing on the ground in the Tibetan manner, his whole body prone—what was he doing? Whom was he bowing to? I shone the light ahead and sucked in a cold breath.

Underground stood a wooden tower shaped like the Chinese character for 'gold', built from thousands of massive logs; its surface glittered with countless red flashes. By that faint light we saw the tower's base nearly two hundred meters wide, rammed earth and stone, its shaft constructed of thousand‑year‑old cypress, divided into nine levels, each piled with the desiccated skeletons of people in strange ancient garb—men, women, old and young—and every great log's trunk carved with Tibetan secret script. Is this a tomb? Who built such a massive structure underground?

I went over and pulled Ga Wa, who was still kowtowing, to his feet: 'Although our Party and army respect ethnic policies, you, Ga Wa, are Tibetan, but when you wear the uniform you are a member of the People's Liberation Army; as a communist you shouldn't indulge in that idealistic mumbo‑jumbo, and we don't allow religious superstition.'

Da Gezi chuckled beside me, 'Well done, Lao Hu—you've got the makings of a political instructor.'

Luo Ning kept looking at the mica; hearing our three‑way argument, she came over to have a closer look.

I waved Da Gezi off to stop interrupting, then asked Ga Wa, 'What is this tower? Do you recognize the writing on it?'

Ga Wa kept shaking his head.

I said, 'This kid, you don't even know what you're kowtowing to—seeing all those bones must have scared you silly.'

Ga Wa's face was full of panic as he spoke halting Chinese: 'Hu this Ga Bear, oh let you say oh come, oh pull oh come, Lar Laldas, nine… nine-story demon tower.'

I didn't catch his first half, but the last four words came through clearly: 'What is a nine-story demon tower? What's it for? Isn't it just for burying the dead?'

Before Ga Wa could speak, Luo Ning came running back from the tower's edge, making a silent gesture, and pointing at the tower behind her she whispered, 'Don't make a sound—don't disturb them.'

Seeing her solemn expression, I sensed trouble but didn't know what she meant, so I lowered my voice and asked, 'What are we disturbing? The dead in the tower?'

Luo Ning said tensely, 'No, it's those fire‑carrying ladybugs; they sleep on the corpses, countless in number.'

Hearing Luo Ning, I realized the dense red flashes on the wooden tower were actually emitted from the transparent ladybugs' bodies.

Although I possess some of the fearless spirit of revolutionary soldiers, just thinking about those strange ladybugs fills me with panic; such a beyond‑common‑sense creature is too hard to deal with, and the horrific scene in the valley has left me with an intense fear.

I gave a signal, and the four of us retreated silently along the way we came. Before we had taken a few steps, Ga Wa's foot gave way and he fell into a ditch.

The ditch was well hidden and ran parallel to our path, so we hadn't noticed it coming. Though only a little over a meter deep, Ga Wa let out a pained grunt when he fell; I hurried down to help him, seeing him clutch his foot with a pained expression.

Then Luo Ning and Da Gezi also descended into the ditch; a flashlight showed that Ga Wa's shoe had been pierced by a sharp white bone splinter, puncturing the shoe and foot to make a clear hole, blood pouring out. The ditch floor was littered with layered animal bones—too many to count—so it looks like a burial pit for cattle, horses, sheep, dogs and the like.

To avoid disturbing the ladybugs in the nearby wooden tower, Da Gezi covered Ga Wa's mouth to keep him quiet; I pulled the white bone splinter from his foot, Luo Ning dusted Yunnan Baiyao from her first‑aid kit onto the wound, then wrapped it with a white bandage to stop the bleeding.

My hand was smeared with Ga Wa's blood, and I absentmindedly rubbed it on my uniform when a thought struck me: this cattle‑horse burial trench is oddly dug—not square or round but a long groove that runs straight to the tower holding the corpses; this shape matches the layout called 'jian' (to intimidate) described in the *Feng Shui Secret Techniques*, and if it's exactly the same, there should be another burial trench of equal scale parallel to it.

Two parallel burial trenches flank the tower‑tomb, forming the 'two dragons absorbing a pearl' configuration; by that logic the neighboring trench should hold grave goods used by the tomb's owner in life. We don't know whether the trenches are man‑made or natural, but natural seems more likely.

The sound of rushing water nearby is loud; from the roar we judge it lies to the northwest, behind the Nine‑story Demon Tower, where an underground river flows—because dragons cannot be without water.

If that's really how it is, then the map of this underground world is already in my head; I just need to find the other burial trench to confirm my hypothesis.

Da Gezi shoved my shoulder and said, 'Lao Hu, what are you up to?'

I had been lost in thought, but his jog brought me back; I asked Luo Ning, 'Luo Gong, can you estimate where we are now? Roughly where on the map?'

Luo Ning consulted her compass and the map, then after a moment's thought said, 'We've been heading north nonstop underground for ten‑odd hours; at our pace we should have passed the glacier above and be about to emerge from the Kunlun Mountains.'

I shared my earlier idea; if we turned back we'd only return to the crevice buried by the avalanche. If my estimate is correct, following the underground river should give us an exit—but that would require risking a passage beneath the Nine‑story Demon Tower, a desperate gamble for survival.

The four of us agreed that, although dangerous, it was worth a try, but I decided first to go look for the other burial trench nearby to verify my idea.

Before acting, I asked Ga Wa, 'Just what exactly is a nine‑story demon tower?'

Ga Wa spoke halting Chinese; after a long while I finally grasped part of it: in his hometown of Xue Wei there is also a ruin identical to this nine‑story demon tower. Legend says these 'nine‑story demon towers' are the burial form of the royal clan of the ancient Demon Kingdom; when the Demon Kingdom fell, that tomb was destroyed by the heroic King Gesar, leaving only a heap of rotting timber frames on the Tibetan plateau, plus the epic songs passed down by herders that sing of Gesar's martial prowess, comparable to the sun.

When Tibetan herders pass these ruins they bow and chant the epic. This is not fear of the Demon Kingdom's royal tombs, but reverence for King Gesar. Ga Wa also mentioned some religious matters I didn't follow, so I can't tell whether those fire‑like bugs are the resting spirits of the dead in the tomb.

I left Luo Ning and the other three in place and crept forward; over a hundred meters from the cattle‑horse burial trench I indeed found another burial trench, filled with ancient leather boots, old Tibetan wooden slips, old Mongolian wooden tablets, painted wooden pieces with gold ornaments, wooden plates, wooden wings, wooden bird‑and‑animal figures, bronze ware, grain, and large quantities of silk grave goods.

It seems my deduction was correct; the underground river behind the Nine-story Demon Tower surely connects to the outside world, so I sneaked back to the Animal Sacrificial Trench to summon the other three to act.

I took the lead, clearing the way, with the big guy carrying his gun behind me; next was Gawa, whose foot injury was serious, and Luoning followed, supporting him as he walked.

The Nine-story Demon Tower was huge; the underground cavity was originally very spacious, but the tower and large sheets of mica on both sides nearly blocked the road heading north, leaving only narrow spots on either side barely passable.

We nervously passed beneath the wooden tower, seeing inside the tower those ladybugs flickering with a fiery aura, making our hearts feel like they would jump out of our throats; over the two-hundred-meter stretch below the tower, each step felt incredibly distant.

After finally squeezing past the Nine-story Demon Tower, we had walked less than two hundred steps when suddenly the ground gave way beneath my foot, as if I had stepped on some huge creature; I shone my flashlight down and saw beneath my feet a gigantic reptilian animal I had never seen before, it was sticking out a long tongue, its skin color closely matched the ground, its shape somewhat resembled a giant lizard, its outward form also resembled a crocodile, but its skin was not as rough, and its snout lacked the sharp point of a lizard, being instead relatively round; its tongue was like a snake's—red and long, forked at the front; its entire body was jet‑black, covered with large white round warts; judging solely by appearance, it could basically be described as an enormous frog with a long tail.

I've never feared heaven or earth in my life, but I'm especially afraid of this disgusting thing; I was so startled I instantly shrank behind the big guy, who also saw this strange creature, his reaction probably similar to mine—he jumped as well. Perhaps the only thing a soldier can rely on is his rifle; acting on instinct, he raised his gun and fired a three‑shot burst, bang‑bang‑bang, and the reptile twitched a few times before dying.

At that moment, Luoning, who had been walking last, came over, looked at the animal's corpse on the ground, let out a breath, and told us: "This is a salamander that lives underground, feeding on insects and mayflies; it does not harm people."

I don't regret killing the animal; I'm worried that the big guy's careless shooting might awaken the insects in the tower—damn it, when bad luck strikes, even a sip of cold water gets stuck in your teeth. Clearly, the ladybugs in the Nine‑story Demon Tower were startled by the gunfire, and countless blue fireballs like little lamps lit up.

The entire underground space was bathed in blue light from the flames, the wooden tower caught fire, the blaze grew larger and larger, hundreds of fireballs surged toward us; despite the size of the fire, we felt no heat at all—instead we felt a biting cold, our teeth chattering.

Seeing the situation turn bad, the big guy pulled the two grenades strapped to his belt, about to yank the pins and throw them to blast those fireballs; I quickly grabbed his hand and said, "Throw just one, leave us one honor grenade—I don't want to be burned to death by that ghost fire."