Chapter 80: Qinling Sacred Tree Arc: Invasion

This giant hand was a pale grayish-white color, buried under a pile of massive rocks. Even a single finger was as thick as my thigh. The fingers were twisted unnaturally, as if trying to grasp something.

I was startled, thinking that the legendary giant had appeared, and almost fainted on the spot. But I immediately noticed something wrong: the fingernails and the fingers were actually the same color. Then I quickly realized that this giant hand wasn't made of flesh—it was carved from stone. However, the carving technique was so realistic that in the dim light, it could easily be mistaken for a real hand. Still, I couldn't laugh it off. This stone hand was a masterpiece of uncanny workmanship, so lifelike that even up close, the sight was terrifying, sending cold sweat down my head. It felt like being in a wax museum—you know the figures are fake, yet you can't shake the feeling that they're watching you. The stone hand was buried in a pile of rubble, probably fallen along with the rock above. I looked up and indeed saw a spot on the cliff where the rocks were loose. But the whole mountain face sloped, creating a blind angle, so I couldn't see the actual situation. Old Yang was impatient; before I could get a clear look, he had already scrambled up recklessly. I followed him, crawling along the cliff, moving little by little along the slope, and soon reached the collapsed area. I had assumed there might be something like a statue up there that had collapsed from age and disrepair, but when I got up there, I found it was actually a half-length figure carved into the cliff, with the chest and head completely blown off, leaving only one hand and half a shoulder recognizable. Even from these parts, I couldn't tell what the statue was, only that the sculptor had a unique style—the remaining parts were almost entirely carved to the proportions of a real person. So it definitely wasn't a Buddha or anything requiring artistic exaggeration. As for what kind of person it was, I couldn't guess either. In the center of the collapsed opening, a pitch-black hole the size of a basketball had been blown out. I shone my flashlight inside and found that the space within was enormous—a large section of the mountain behind might be hollow. My intuition told me that behind this giant stone figure there might be an ancient tomb, but I didn't know what expert had already been there. Generally speaking, anyone who could think of building a tomb in such a place was no ordinary person, and someone who could rob a tomb in such a place was even more of a master among masters. Even if an ordinary grave robber walked back and forth through this crevice hundreds of times, he would never guess there was another world above his head. Old Yang and I discussed it and decided to go in and have a look, to learn from the master's methods, and see if anything was left behind. He was thinner, so he went first, crawling into the hole. The hole was positioned high inside, so his feet couldn't reach the bottom, and he had to press against the wall. I handed him the flashlight, and he took it, shining it around, and said, "Holy shit, there's standing water inside."

I poked my head in and saw a vaulted stone chamber, chiseled out. Below was greenish stagnant water, depth unknown. It must have accumulated from rain seeping in through this hole over time. Old Yang told me that when he came last time, this place hadn't caved in yet. So this collapse must have happened in the last three years. Three years isn't short, but it's unlikely to have accumulated too deep water. I didn't agree and told him to be careful. Relying on his good swimming skills, Old Yang let go and jumped down. The water immediately reached his chest, startling him so much he almost slipped. I clicked my tongue—the water was too deep. I asked him, "Feel the bottom. What's it like—mud or stone?"

Old Yang said, "It's stone, leveled flat. Damn, this water is freezing cold."

I took the waterproof cloth out of both backpacks, wrapped the bags up, threw one to him and carried the other on my back, then carefully slipped into the water. Immediately, a chill rose from the soles of my feet, making me shiver. But once my feet touched the bottom, I felt relieved—it was solid and even, so walking wouldn't be too hard. If it had been mud, it would have been troublesome—one step, one hole, hard to walk and dangerous with the risk of falling into a pit. Since I hadn't expected to work in water, I hadn't prepared any proper gear. We could only go forward with flashlights. After just a few steps, we saw a low stone door set into the far stone wall. The whole design here was almost entirely unadorned—it felt like it was dug just for the sake of digging. This was definitely not the method of tomb construction. Looking around, I vaguely had an idea. The low stone door was very low; you'd have to duck to enter. The water would then reach our necks. The water had been stagnant for a long time, giving off a strange smell. Being so close to it was a bit nauseating. I paused to ask Old Yang's opinion—after all, we only came in to have a casual look. With such an uncomfortable path, I wasn't keen on going further. But unexpectedly, Old Yang was in high spirits and, without a second thought, stooped and walked through the low door, motioning for me to follow. I didn't want to spoil his fun, so I followed. Inside the low door was a stone passage, pitch black. Wherever our flashlights swept, we saw pale greenish-gray stone walls, also crudely chiseled, with almost no signs of dressing. We walked about ten meters inside, and suddenly the passage turned at a ninety-degree angle. I shone my flashlight and saw that it went frighteningly deep. I stopped, not daring to go in rashly. In fact, at this point, going further wouldn't be wise. The water was so deep, and we couldn't see what was under the surface—it was a bit unsettling. If something suddenly came out of the water, even a piece of wood would scare me half to death. Seeing how deep it went, Old Yang also got a bit nervous, scratching his head indecisively. We leaned against the wall, shining our lights, discussing what to do next. Old Yang looked at the stone walls around us and asked me, "Do you notice that although this tomb is quite large, it's very roughly built? Look at these rock chips—each uglier than the last, not dressed at all. I've heard about Tang Dynasty mountain-cut tombs—could this be a Tang tomb?"

I said, "You only know part of the story, not the whole. What does 'mountain-cut' mean? It means hollowing out the whole mountain, with rooms several meters high inside, lined with stone slabs, bricks, and tiles—no room for sloppiness. All the passages also have giant sealing stones that require horses to pull. Look here—jagged rocks everywhere, it's practically an air-raid shelter. I don't think this is an ancient tomb."

Old Yang was startled and asked, "No way, don't mess with me."

Seeing his expression, I found it amusing and said, "I'm only speculating. We'd have to go deeper to know for sure. But based on my experience, this isn't a tomb—it's an ancient mine. This is probably a mine tunnel. If we go further and see a vertical shaft going down, then that confirms it."

As I said this, I realized something was wrong—the place was filled with water. Even if there was a vertical shaft, it would be underwater, and we couldn't see it even if we wanted to. Old Yang, hearing this, thought it was boring. He asked if there would be anything good in an ancient mine. I shook my head. Ancient jade mines and gem mines—since these things are very rare now, if you could find a remaining vein, you'd be set for several lifetimes. But for special reasons, ancient mines are taboo in tomb raiding—you can't just go in. My grandfather had also dug into ancient mines, and every time he would take a few steps and then back out, leaving marks at the entrance to warn later people. He said that if you treat an ancient mine like a tomb, nine times out of ten you'll die inside. Old Yang heard me speak so firmly and was a bit unconvinced. He said, "I don't believe it. How can a mine be more dangerous than a tomb? There are no zombies in here. What's so dangerous?"

At first I thought the same as him, but then reconsidered. I felt the old rule was still wise. Because ancient mines were often exploited across dynasties—a Tang mine might not be fully worked until the Ming. Each dynasty had different methods: single-entry, spiral, opposite digging, so the structure of the mine chambers could become incredibly complex. Go a little too deep, and you could get lost, let alone find the vein. And, to be a bit mystical, most ancient miners were prisoners. With intense labor and no medical care, the death rate was very high. Mines usually had a place where bodies were dumped, called a "straight burial shaft." Corpses were piled layer upon layer. So ancient mine galleries were even more inauspicious than tombs. Imagine if that straight burial shaft was built on a corpse-nurturing ground—then the whole pile underneath might be a dozen black-haired zombies. If they jumped out, what a spectacular sight it would be. Old Yang thought it over carefully and felt my analysis made sense. He said, "Since that's the case, let's not play hero. Let's go back. Besides, we don't even know what kind of mine this is. If it's just some crappy iron mine, it's not worth the trouble. But speaking of which, Old Wu, can you tell what this mine was extracting? If it's a jade mine, let's make a note and come back later."

My knowledge of ancient jade is shallow—that's also why my business doesn't grow—but in front of Old Yang, I had to maintain my expert image. I said, "In ancient China, the term 'jade' was very loose. Besides nephrite and jadeite, it included crystal, agate, serpentine, white marble, turquoise, lapis lazuli. But the places that produced jade have always been just a few: Hetian in Xinjiang, Dushan in Henan, Xiuyan in Liaoning, Lantian in Shaanxi. None are here. Look at the rock color—though it's greenish, the green is mixed with white patches. Probably a copper mine."

Old Itch was very disappointed. His high spirits were finally completely suppressed by me. Once a person loses their goal, all sorts of unfavorable factors will be infinitely amplified. He immediately started shouting that he was cold. At his words, I also felt the bone-piercing cold of the water, which had already exceeded my limit. We adjusted our equipment and turned back the way we came. Just as we were passing that bend again, from the darkness behind us came several muffled sounds of water, as if something was moving underwater. I grabbed Old Itch's hand and forcibly turned the flashlight in his hand toward the direction of the sound. Immediately, I saw a huge dorsal fin sink into the water, and at the same time, a triangular wake appeared on the surface, swimming toward us. Before I could figure out what it was, Old Itch slapped my hand away and shouted, "Run!"