Chapter 150: Moat

For several minutes after landing, I was completely stunned, my mind still unable to process what had happened, or whether I was dead or alive. Then a spicy liquid burst from my throat, flowing back into my windpipe, and I started coughing uncontrollably as blood sprayed from my nose and dripped down my chin.

It took a full half cigarette's worth of time before I recovered, feeling sensation slowly return to my body. I sat up tremblingly, surrounded by pitch blackness, unable to see anything. I felt the ground—dry stones and sand. The bottom of the moat was dry. Luckily the rocks were fairly flat, otherwise I would have been battered to death even if the fall hadn't killed me.

The gas mask had cracked, one lens shattered. I touched it and found the whole mask was caved in. Feeling ahead, I discovered a sharp rock where my face had hit. It seemed thanks to the mask's protection that my face wasn't smashed in, but in the process, the gas mask was now completely useless.

I struggled to tear off the back buckle and carefully removed it from my face. As soon as I held it in my hand, the mask split into four pieces, impossible to put on again.

Without the mask, the sulfur smell in the air became more intense, but after a few breaths it didn't seem too uncomfortable. It seems what Panzi said about the toxicity here wasn't that serious, or maybe the air quality at the bottom of the moat was acceptable. I cursed under my breath, threw the mask to the ground, spat out the blood lingering in my mouth, and looked up.

The moat was at least a dozen meters deep, with a gray blur above. I could only see Fatty and the others' flashlights shining down from above, waving around as if searching for me. I could also hear some shouts, but perhaps because of the fall, my ears were full of the buzzing from the moment of landing, and I couldn't make out what they were saying.

I tried to shout forcefully a few times, but as soon as I strained, a tearing pain spread from my chest, and my voice turned into groans. I didn't know what I was saying, or even if I had made any sound at all.

To let Fatty and the others know I was alive, I picked up the discarded gas mask and struck the ground hard, producing a "slap slap slap" sound. It wasn't loud, but in the quiet moat bottom, it echoed and was very noticeable.

After pounding for a while, a cold flare was suddenly thrown down from above, landing beside me. I cursed and dodged. Then I saw a head poking out from the broken section of the bridge above; judging by the size, it seemed to be Fatty.

I crawled over, picked up the flare and waved it at him. He saw me immediately and shouted something, but I couldn't make out what he was saying at all, so I just made some meaningless sounds. Fatty pulled his head back, and soon a rope was thrown down from above, dangling to the riverbed. Fatty shouldered his gun and began climbing down.

A dozen meters was about the height of four or five stories, neither too high nor too low. Fatty slid down in one go, let go of the rope, first aimed his gun around, and seeing no movement, ran over and crouched down to ask, "Are you fucking okay?" I croaked weakly, "Okay? You try falling once and see?"

Seeing that I could still joke, Fatty breathed a sigh of relief and whistled up above. Immediately, Panzi and Shunzi climbed down with their equipment.

They helped me up, first propping me against a rock to the side, then had Shunzi hold me down while they took out a medical kit to check my body.

Seeing the medical kit, I felt a bit relieved, thinking at least the preparations were adequate. Panzi confirmed I had no fractures, took out some bandages, and bandaged my larger wounds. Then he scolded, "I told you to stop, why did you still jump? Lucky you're tough, but if you died, how would I explain to Third Uncle?"

I got furious and yelled back, "You're blaming me? I was already in midair when you yelled stop! This isn't a fucking videotape that can be rewound—" Before I could finish, a sudden sharp pain twisted my chest, and I nearly doubled over.

Panzi was startled, quickly held me down, and told me not to move.

I gritted my teeth, wanting to curse him again, but the pain was too much—I couldn't even speak, only gasping for breath.

Fatty handed me his water flask from the side and said, "But you're really lucky. At that height, with rocks below, an ordinary person would either be dead or crippled."

I took the flask, thinking that this should be called a worthless life instead. I probably survived because I hit those two iron chains. I didn't know if it was luck or misfortune—lately I kept falling from great heights and surviving each time. It was really killing me.

After a few sips of water, the blood in my mouth was washed away and my throat felt a bit better. I asked him what that thing was earlier. Panzi said this time they saw clearly; it was definitely a strange bird, very large, as tall as a person. Unfortunately they missed, or they could have seen what it was.

Fatty said, "Damn spooky. The person I saw over on the spirit path earlier might have been this thing. A human-headed bird, maybe some kind of owl."

Shunzi looked up and said, "Strange, those strange birds don't seem to be flying down anymore."

I also looked up; indeed, the invisible pressure from earlier had clearly disappeared, and nothing was diving down anymore.

"Is there something tricky about this place, that they dare not come down?"

Panzi was a bit hesitant too. Fatty said, "How about this: I'll look around first. If there might be a problem here, we'll go up immediately. You guys stay here, and Little Wu, you rest for a bit."

I nodded. Panzi said, "I'll go with you." The two of them walked off in different directions.

Before long, Fatty, who was searching on one side, whistled to us, as if he had found something.

Panzi raised his gun and looked toward Fatty. He saw that Fatty had already walked far along the bridge, his flashlight beam becoming faint. Within the range of his light, we saw a large mass of black shadows behind him, as if many people were standing in the distant darkness, shadows interwoven, stretching on endlessly, too many to count.

We all went on alert. Panzi clicked the bolt into place, Shunzi drew his hunting knife, and Panzi shouted to Fatty, "What's going on? What is it?"

Fatty called back from over there, "Come over and see for yourselves." From our earlier impression on the bridge, the moat was nearly sixty meters wide, extending far in both directions. Compared to the absolute width of the river, the place where Fatty stood was actually not far from us, but because of the thick darkness all around, we couldn't clearly see what his flashlight was illuminating.

However, from Fatty's tone, it seemed there was no danger there.

Shunzi looked at me and asked if I could walk and if I wanted to go see. I nodded, and he helped me up. The three of us limped toward where Fatty was.

The bottom of the moat was covered in uneven black rocks, some of alarming size. It was clear that the original construction must have been a massive project. The large patch of interwoven black shadows that Fatty's flashlight had revealed was located right under the pier of the stone bridge above.

After trudging with difficulty to Fatty's side, those shadows became clearer. I walked closer, took the flashlight from Fatty's hand, and shone it to see what those things were.

Where Fatty stood, the riverbed had a fault line. Below it was a ditch about one meter deep and roughly twenty meters wide. Countless black, human-sized ancient figurines of people and horses, mixed with bronze chariot wreckage, were arranged inside the ditch, stretching on in a continuous line. Approaching a few, one could see that the surfaces of the human figurines were severely corroded, their features blurred and impossible to distinguish. Many figurines held bronze objects, which were even more rotted into a mottled green.

Most of these figurines were standing, packed extremely closely together, and many had already collapsed and shattered, piled up haphazardly. From where I stood, as far as my eyesight and the flashlight beam could reach, it seemed to be all these things—a vast area of dim black shadows. At the bottom of this eerie imperial tomb, how could it not make one's blood run cold?

"What are these things?" Shunzi, seeing them for the first time, was dumbfounded.

"These seem to be burial figurines,

Fatty also knew about this and found it strange. This place was an imperial mausoleum, not a place for games. The quantity of items in the underground palace and the arrangement of all burial objects in the sacrificial pits were highly particular—not at all like the tombs of ordinary nobles, where one could follow one's whims. Imperial mausoleums emphasized an aura, a momentum. This practice of piling burial goods in the open was equivalent to a mouse spot on a piece of top-quality white jade—the worst of taboos. If the emperor had seen it back then, it would certainly have led to the confiscation of one's family. Although Dongxia was a small, hidden border kingdom at the time, since the renowned Wang Zanghai was the one building the mausoleum, he definitely wouldn't have made such a low-level mistake.

Fatty climbed down into the ditch, gripping his gun with one hand in a defensive posture and shining a flashlight with the other onto a headless human figure. He said to me, "Looking at the clothing, it seems to be Yuan-style attire, the clothes of an ethnic minority." As he spoke, he reached out to touch it.

I warned him, "Don't move around recklessly. This thing is mysterious, placed here—who knows what's fishy about it."

Fatty was dismissive: "Scared of what? It's not gonna come alive, is it?" But my words still had some effect. He pulled his hand back, shouldered the gun, took a flashlight in one hand and drew the hunting knife from his waist with the other, then jabbed the humanoid figurine a few times. The figurine showed no reaction. He turned his head and said, "The real deal, a stone man."

Panzi was curious, so he also climbed down into the ditch and walked over to Fatty. I still felt a bit uneasy and said, "You guys be careful."

Fatty waved his hand, indicating he disdained to talk to me. He sheathed the hunting knife back into its leather case, tried to lift the nearest figurine, and asked, "Little Wu, you're in this trade. Are these things valuable or not?"

I nodded: "This stuff has some worth. Not even the whole piece—parts of it have buyers. I know a terracotta warrior's head is worth two million, and that's in dollars. Horse heads are rarer than human heads, even more precious. The price is hard to say."

Fatty looked around regretfully, showing a pained expression, and said, "What a pity, what a pity. This stuff is hard to carry out—"

I still felt it was very strange. These things really shouldn't be here. They say every item in an ancient tomb has a story behind it. These things being here must have some significance or story. So what was the original designer's intention?

Judging by the distance on both sides, the ditch where these humanoid figurines stand is at the deepest part of the moat's center. When the imperial mausoleum was first completed, these things should have been submerged at the bottom of the moat, hidden by the water's surface. The blurred faces of the figurines are also evidence that they were long soaked in water. That is to say, after the mausoleum was built, people above could not see the existence of these things.

So what was the meaning of placing these figurines here? Could they be construction waste, defective figurines? Did the craftsmen lazily sink this trash into the moat? That didn't seem right either—they were arranged so neatly, not like a way to pile up rejects.

Truly, one cannot fathom the ancients' thoughts, I sighed inwardly. If I hadn't fallen down, I wouldn't have seen anything under the bridge from up there. It was a stroke of luck. Was heaven trying to show me something? At that moment, Fatty suddenly clicked his tongue and said, "Have you guys noticed? All the figurines here are facing one direction, making walking movements—completely different from what we see in the market."

I hadn't noticed it originally, but once Fatty said it, I followed his lead and looked—and sure enough, it was true.

Normally, burial figurines arranged facing one direction is quite common; I've never seen a chaotic mess of orientations. But the walking movement Fatty mentioned was extremely peculiar—I had never seen it before. I carefully shone my flashlight on the lower parts of the figurines, and suddenly a strange feeling surged up.

"These people—" I frowned, "seem to be marching."

"Marching?" Panzi looked at me.

I nodded: "Judging from the chariots and the clothing of the figures, this is an imperial procession. Look at these horses, these carts, the movements of these people—they are all heading toward the same place. The way these figurines are arranged and their poses seem to depict a dynamic scene."

We all looked in the direction the procession of figurines was facing. The long line of eerie figurines stretched into the darkness deep within the moat, making it impossible to discern where their "destination" was.