Volume One, Chapter Sixteen: The Tavern in the Remote Mountains

The "Soy Paste Vat" is what we called it back home, also known as the "Cotton Cover," but outsiders referred to it as the Swamp.

Originally, the Soy Paste Vat was a water-filled hollow—a stagnant pool, really—though quite expansive, covering an area about ten or so miles across.

For centuries, the Qing dynasty had sealed off the Greater Khingan Range. When people finally ventured back in, the place had transformed. The water hollow had vanished, or rather, it had filled with fallen leaves and branches that decayed to form a gelatinous substance, neither quite mud nor water. This substance resembled a paste made from sticky flour—unyielding and clinging.

Step in with one leg, and even seven or eight people pulling with ropes wouldn’t budge you. In other words, once you stepped into the Soy Paste Vat, it was practically a one-way ticket to the underworld.

Strangely, the Soy Paste Vat could even support the growth of towering trees. Apart from those trees, anything else would be swallowed whole. There were tales of people caught in the vat, tied to trees with ropes, yet still dragged in by the swamp’s grasp.

It was truly malevolent.

At the center of this vat, shrouded in a pale mist, lay the legendary Killing Ghost Ridge.

Since the late Qing era, countless treasure seekers had attempted to cross the Soy Paste Vat to reach Killing Ghost Ridge, employing all manner of bizarre methods. One of the earliest was walking on stilts.

Because the vat’s depth varied wildly, this was the deadliest approach.

Another was swinging on ropes from tree to tree—a gamble of luck, since some trees were unstable. When pulled upon, they might collapse, crushing the traveler or plunging them into the vat’s depths.

Boating was also common. This method saw the most people entering the vat, with a path reportedly cleared through the swamp. Follow that route, and eight or nine times out of ten, you could reach Killing Ghost Ridge.

Yet, no matter how many entered, very few emerged. Rumors among the circles spoke of the Mountain God only granting safe passage to a man named Old Lianba. Old Lianba was said to have ventured into Killing Ghost Ridge multiple times, bringing back three or four hundred taels of gold nuggets alone.

Old Lianba was a mute from the Republican era. Though he could not speak, he was cunning. No one knew where he learned his strange method: he would file away a layer of skin and then cover it with freshly peeled catfish skin.

This process took years. He could only file a small patch at a time, and attaching the catfish skin was painstaking. Just replacing the skin on his legs took three years. Replacing his entire body’s skin took over a decade. It was said that year-round, his body was smooth and bare, with the catfish skin not only alive on him but also growing ghostly eye-like patterns.

With this catfish skin, Old Lianba moved freely through the Soy Paste Vat, retrieving many treasures. Later, he reportedly amassed enough wealth to settle in Southeast Asia, buying land and marrying several wives.

Many obsessed men tried to imitate Old Lianba’s method, but it was unnatural—some died from infections, some failed to grow the catfish skin properly, and others developed greenish mold and fur all over.

Despite knowing it was a death trap, people always believed they had a better idea, that they were chosen by fate, and continued trying various methods to reach Killing Ghost Ridge. The tragic outcomes were predictable. It wasn’t until just before the founding of the People’s Republic that the frenzy to enter Killing Ghost Ridge gradually subsided.

Since then, only once about seven or eight years ago did a group venture in—around 1997, by my estimation.

They claimed to be a scientific expedition. At the time, the “Dogskin Hats” warned them not to enter, but they ignored the advice. Unable to carry much equipment in the deep forest, they fashioned a simple wooden raft and launched into the Soy Paste Vat.

About ten people entered; six or seven days later, only a woman with protruding teeth returned.

Before going in, she was quite beautiful, without the obvious dental deformity. But upon return, her teeth jutted outward, and she was dazed and mute, answering no questions. Her large eyes darted about wildly. No one came looking for them, so the “Bucktooth Woman” lived in the tavern for seven or eight years.

Speaking of the tavern, it was originally built during the late Qing period by those venturing into the mountains. Many came with dreams of sudden wealth, and someone set up the tavern to serve them.

At that time, the tavern was more than just a drinking place. Everyone knew the danger of entering the Soy Paste Vat, so before going in, they would spend all their money—making the most of their final moments.

The prevailing attitude was that if you made it out, your current money was just a fraction of your future gains; if not, leftover money was useless. So, before entering, no coin was left unspent.

During the Republican era, when the tavern thrived, it employed over sixty women and offered a variety of entertainments. The tavern even mimicked the imperial palace’s method of selecting concubines by having the emperor flip cards.

Besides that, there were opium smoking and gambling—whatever pleasures one could imagine. One particularly unique service was burning paper money on behalf of patrons. People would leave yellow paper money along with their names, birth dates, and hometowns. If they never returned, the tavern owner would burn the paper offerings during Qingming and the Ghost Festival.

Some shrewd individuals saw opportunity not only in the treasures of Killing Ghost Ridge but also in the loose change carried by these desperate souls. Though the money was little, the sheer number of people made it profitable. Many earned from them.

This was akin to a lottery: I’m after the five million prize, someone else wants the two yuan in my pocket.

It was much like America’s gold rush—vendors selling water, jeans, and supplies all made money, while the actual gold miners mostly didn’t.

Such was the tale of the Soy Paste Vat and those who dared to enter its treacherous depths.