Chapter 56: Raging Sea: Twenty Years Ago

Poker-face—no, I should say Zhang Qiling—spoke in a calm tone, utterly devoid of emotion. From his account, I gradually glimpsed one corner of this enormous mystery. Yet I could not understand from his narrative what he had thought or heard throughout the entire affair, nor could I grasp his true background. For now, we imagined him as a silent, wise youth.

Deep beneath the sea, you could not hear the raging storm above, but you could still feel the suffocating pressure before the storm hit.

Zhang Qiling sat quietly in the corner of the side chamber, watching his companions rush eagerly to study the blue-and-white porcelain on the floor. These ceramics held no appeal for him, but his older-seeming teammates were completely captivated by them.

They passed the pieces around, some trying to trace the patterns, others discussing the meaning of the designs. Suddenly someone called out, "Come look! There's something odd on the bottom of these porcelains!"

The one who spoke was named Huo Ling, the youngest of the three girls on the expedition team. Her parents were high-ranking officials, so she was pampered and loved to make a fuss to attract attention. Zhang Qiling's headache flared at the sound of her voice. Still, girls like her were quite popular in this small group, and her delicate cries immediately drew the others over.

The boys jostled, eager to show off their knowledge in front of Huo Ling, shouting, "What odd thing? Let me see!" Huo Ling turned over the porcelain in her hand and showed them. One glanced at it and said, "Oh, I know what that is. It's a kiln number, indicating where the porcelain was made."

Another immediately retorted, "No, that's not right. Ming dynasty kiln marks don't look like that. This could be an official title inscription identifying the tomb owner!"

The first one, feeling a bit embarrassed, said, "Official title inscriptions are usually four characters long. This one only has one character, and it's very obscure. Your suggestion is even more unlikely."

The two, carrying on the legacy of the Cultural Revolution's debate style, quickly escalated from a verbal to a physical argument. Huo Ling sighed, used to such scenes. She suddenly noticed Zhang Qiling leaning coldly in the corner, completely ignoring her. Snorting inwardly, she walked straight over, held out the blue-and-white long-necked vase, and said playfully, "Xiao Zhang, take a look for me. What is this?"

Zhang Qiling had no desire to deal with her. He gave it a faint glance, didn't see anything clearly, and turned his head, saying, "I don't know."

Huo Ling's expression changed. She rarely got the cold shoulder from men and felt displeased. "Xiao Zhang, don't you dare brush me off. Look carefully and then answer!" She shoved the vase into Zhang Qiling's hands.

Zhang Qiling sighed helplessly, picked it up. Huo Ling pointed triumphantly to the bottom of the vase. On its base was a special carved mark.

Zhang Qiling had never seen such a carving before, and he was momentarily startled. Usually the bottom of ceramics bore the kiln mark, but this carving had a distinct tactile feel and was unlike any kiln name. It looked more like a number.

He casually picked up another piece, turned it over, and found a different mark. Suddenly he had a vague feeling that these ceramics were not mere funerary objects.

Seeing his expression change, Huo Ling thought this wooden block had finally got it. "Xiao Zhang, what's up? What exactly is this thing?"

Zhang Qiling acted as if she were invisible. He picked up a dozen pieces and examined them, finding different symbols on each bottom. The symbols changed in a regular pattern, as if they were a fixed sequence numbering system.

Why number these ceramics? Was their arrangement so strict? Or, if not arranged according to these numbers, would some purpose be unfulfilled? Countless thoughts flashed through Zhang Qiling's mind, and he began to scrutinize the porcelains carefully.

On closer inspection, he was surprised again. The patterns on the ceramics did not depict spring plowing or courtyards, but a scene of craftsmen carving giant stone statues. Such imagery was considered lowbrow in ancient times—why would it be painted on porcelain? He looked through them and gradually noticed something: each ceramic painting, viewed alone, seemed ordinary, but when arranged in order, the images formed a continuous series, as if depicting the progress of a massive project.

By now everyone was drawn to his strange behavior. The boys, puzzled by his game, stared at him blankly.

Zhang Qiling ignored them. He did not read through the entire series like I would have. Instead, he walked directly to the last small porcelain double-eared pot, picked it up, and studied it closely. His heart stirred. On this final pot was sketched the completion scene of the entire project.

It was a palace floating in the sky, indescribable in words. Below the palace, clouds swirled. The builders stood on the ground, gazing upward. On a nearby mountain, a Daoist smiled serenely.

This tiny pot could not convey the grandeur of that project, but Zhang Qiling felt an uncontrollable excitement because he knew what he had found.

He could almost conclude that the content depicted was the Cloud Summit Palace, designed and built by Wang Zanghai, the ghost-handed master craftsman of the early Ming Dynasty!

The legendary floating palace had long appeared in folk tales. The common explanation was that Wang Zanghai had used a giant kite and countless gold threads to create the illusion of a magnificent aerial palace to please Zhu Yuanzhang.

But if the legend were true, what was the scene depicted here? If the legend were false, did these porcelain paintings indicate that Wang Zanghai really built a floating palace? Legend vs. fact, fact vs. legend—which was true? Zhang Qiling began to feel lost.

He pondered for a while but found no clue. He told his still-ignorant companions about it. They, of course, didn't believe him. But when they followed his method and examined each piece in sequence, they were dumbfounded. This was not only unprecedented in Chinese history, but also the most incredible discovery. Huo Ling, thrilled that her find had led to such a breakthrough, kissed Zhang Qiling on the cheek, instantly sparking jealousy among the other men.

Zhang Qiling, however, didn't notice. He probably had no idea who kissed him, nor did he care. He walked directly to Wenjin and suggested they immediately search the rear hall. He believed more clues must be found in the coffin.

Wenjin, being the responsible one, thought it over and said, "No, absolutely not. Without the team leader's guidance, we cannot enter the ancient tomb on our own!"

Seeing her disagreement, Zhang Qiling said nothing more. He packed his gear and headed for the passageway. Wenjin, a strong-willed woman, was annoyed that he so blatantly disregarded her. She decided to teach him a lesson. In the institute, she often used some martial arts moves to put insolent young men in their place.

With that thought, she suddenly reached out to grab the joint of Zhang Qiling's thin wrist—a move called "locking the pulse." Once the pulse was locked, she could use four ounces to deflect a thousand pounds. Though not strong physically, if she struck first, she could make a big man like Zhang Qiling beg in pain.

The other men, all victims of Wenjin's move, smirked, expecting to see Zhang Qiling humiliated. She had never failed with that trick; anyone without martial arts training was defenseless. But this time she missed, and she was startled. Zhang Qiling turned back and said calmly, "Don't worry, I can take care of myself."

Wenjin sneered, "What do you plan to take care of yourself with? Xiao Zhang, you're notorious in the institute for being undisciplined, but this is an ancient tomb. Even if you don't care about yourself, consider everyone else's safety."

Zhang Qiling nodded and actually said, "I'll consider it. I'll be back soon."

Wenjin's face flushed with anger. How did she end up with such a troublemaker? His mild tone gave her no room to vent. She grabbed him and said, "No, I said no. We've already lost one person. How am I supposed to explain to the institute if I come back without you?"

Zhang Qiling seemed somewhat impatient. He turned, his eyes turning cold, and said, "Let go."

Wenjin stared at him resolutely. I think any man would have yielded seeing such a cute woman looking at him like that. But Zhang Qiling's eyes suddenly widened, becoming fierce as a demon's. Wenjin's hand went limp from fright, and he shook her off.

When she looked again, Zhang Qiling's eyes had returned to that indifferent, unreadable expression. He nodded at her and said, "Thank you."

The others, witnessing this, thought Wenjin had actually agreed to his request. They became discontented. That's human nature: once one person breaks the rules, everyone else piles on. The others, seeing Zhang Qiling enter the passage, were afraid he'd claim all the credit and also felt their suppressed curiosity reignite. They clamored to follow him.

Wenjin was, after all, a woman. She knew that the moment she let go, she had lost control over these people. Now, unless she had a gun, there was no way to stop these young people.

Third Uncle had a bad temper. If she woke Wu Sansheng now, given his temperament, he would inevitably have a violent confrontation with Zhang Qiling over face. The situation could spiral out of control. After weighing the pros and cons, she decided to lead them into the rear hall herself and come back as soon as possible. With her years of tomb-robbing experience, if this were only an ordinary tomb, there should be no problem.

The subsequent process was basically the same as what we had experienced. As for how they passed through the trap-laden corridor, discovered the stairs in the pool, and then descended to the bottom, although it was also quite winding and bizarre, it is not the key point of the narrative. Zhang Qiling glossed over it in a single sentence when he told the story. The most crucial part was still when they reached the mist-shrouded pool bottom and saw the wordless stone stele.

The scene at the bottom of the pool was utterly eerie. Under the beam of the flashlight, the thick fog kept shifting into various faces, involuntarily stirring fear in their hearts. As they stepped down the last stone stair, the group suddenly became united, barely daring to breathe. They pulled at each other in the fog, trembling, terrified that something might suddenly rush out.

Huo Ling saw that Zhang Qiling showed no fear, while the other people beside him—the so-called senior students from the institute who usually put on an impressive front—were now shrinking behind him in fright. She couldn't help but feel a bit of fondness for him and said to the boys, "Look at the lot of you. You're several years older than Little Zhang, but you can't even compare to his shadow. Aren't you ashamed?"

At that age, they were all fearless young calves who didn't fear tigers. Stung by Huo Ling's words, their blood rushed to their heads, and they no longer cared about danger. They scrambled to get ahead of Zhang Qiling. The pool bottom wasn't large. After running a few steps and seeing nothing happen, their courage swelled again, and they walked straight into the center of the mist. But after only a few steps, the leader suddenly shouted, "There's a monster inside!" and ran back screaming.

That yell almost scared everyone out of their wits. Several at the back, whether they had seen anything or not, felt their scalps tingle and retreated as well. Zhang Qiling ignored them and led the others straight ahead, where they saw the so-called monster—the Dinghai Stone Monkey.

Then they saw the other Dinghai Stone Monkeys and the mysterious wordless stone stele.

For an instant, they were all deeply shaken. Though what lay before them was not grand, it held extraordinary significance in their eyes. Every single thing in this ancient tomb overturned the millennia-old, textbook-bound Chinese concept of burial, possessing immeasurable archaeological value.

Even Wenjin was left speechless with astonishment. She murmured, "My god, these things are beyond belief. This place might well become another milestone in Chinese archaeology." Stunned shock gave way to wild joy. In those days, a major discovery meant enormous opportunity. Once they announced this find, their names would become household words. At the thought, a few of the slower ones were already grinning foolishly, while one was so excited he couldn't contain himself and started dancing.

At this moment, Zhang Qiling, the very one who had sparked this whole incident, furrowed his brows deeply. He looked more carefully than anyone else and had already spotted the ancient seal script carved into the base of the stele.

"This stele, for one fated, shall reveal the gate to the Celestial Palace. Enter it, and you may attain the realm of immortals."

These words struck him far more profoundly than any other discovery. Unaffected by the frenzy of those around him, he sank into deep contemplation.

In his view, such words could not appear in this place without reason. Since something exists, it must have a purpose. The tomb owner had placed these things here for a reason he could not ignore.

So where exactly was the gate to the Celestial Palace within this stele? And what did it mean to be fated? He stood before the stele and searched it inch by inch, but it was just a stele—there was no trace of any mechanism or hidden text.

The others gradually calmed down after their excitement. Wenjin felt that enough time had passed and it was unwise to linger, so she called them back. Having had their fill of joy and awe, they composed themselves and chatted and laughed as they headed toward the stairs. Wenjin counted them one by one and noticed at the end that Zhang Qiling had not come.

Zhang Qiling had initially disobeyed the team leader, insisting on coming to the rear hall, and now he refused to rejoin the group. Wenjin was furious at this, but it was her duty not to abandon him. In a harsh tone, she instructed the others, and the whole team quickly walked back into the mist.

They had only taken a few steps when they saw Zhang Qiling still crouched in front of the stele, studying something. Wenjin's anger flared, and she called out, "Aren't you leaving? How long are you going to be difficult—?" Halfway through her sentence, Huo Ling grabbed her hand and desperately signaled her to be quiet. Puzzled, Wenjin looked at the others and saw that they all seemed alarmed. She was very confused.

Seeing that she still hadn't caught on, Huo Ling quickly pointed into the mist. Following her gesture, Wenjin saw, less than two meters from Zhang Qiling, deep in the fog, the silhouette of a massive human figure.