Chapter Thirty-Six: Crossroads

Seeing that Qin Feng didn't take his warning seriously, Peanut simply smiled and said nothing more. At that moment, I began to understand Peanut’s intention. He had gone on at length, and in the end, invoked the phrase “Dragon’s Pool of Evil”—likely hoping to persuade us not to venture further. Of course, he must have realized there was no way our group would turn back, so he simply voiced his thoughts, perhaps believing he had fulfilled his duty of kindness.

Yet, there was something I found deeply puzzling. If Peanut was aware of the dangers here and even tried to dissuade us, why didn’t he consider retreating himself? Our motive was plain: to save my father. But what was Peanut’s motive? I couldn’t believe that his relationship with my father was so close that he’d risk his life for him. True, he’d looked after me all this way, but I could tell he had his own agenda. Now, although Peanut was outwardly doing the same as us—pressing forward to find my father—the uncertainty about his true purpose left me feeling as though we were traveling the same road but with different hearts.

Besides, since he’d come all this way with us, it was too late to question his motives now. And, knowing Peanut’s personality, even if I asked, he’d likely just smile and brush it off. So, all I could do was try to glean his intentions from his behavior along the way—a matter more of intuition than deduction. All things considered, I suspected his purpose was still related to my father, just not to his safety, but perhaps to some matter involving him.

As I was pondering this, the two porters nearby burst out laughing. Looking over, I saw they’d discovered that two-thirds of Old Tan’s pack was filled with food and drink.

Back on the bridge, the three of us had tossed our packs, so it fell to the remaining three to redistribute the gear. Now that we’d entered the tomb passage, what we needed most was light and food. Fortunately, the fire sticks, smokeless stoves, and flashlights were mostly in the porters’ backpacks—meaning we’d have light for at least ten days. But the dry rations had all been in mine and Peanut’s packs, and in the chaos of fleeing, we’d left them behind. However, as soon as Old Tan opened his pack, that problem resolved itself. According to Qin Feng’s estimate, as long as we rationed the food and water, it would last the six of us about seven days.

Once the gear was redistributed, we resumed our journey. As soon as we set off, I saw Qin Feng begin marking the base of the walls with stones, repeating the process every twenty or thirty meters. Watching him work with such practiced confidence put me at ease.

This so-called cave was, in fact, a man-made burial passage. The floor was paved with stone slabs, and both walls were adorned with the same kind of murals I’d seen earlier. To be honest, only now did I truly feel as though I’d entered an ancient site. The previous experiences had been so overwhelming that I’d scarcely believed they were real. But here, with the passage neither too wide nor too narrow, murals rising and falling on the walls, and ancient oil lamps appearing every dozen meters or so, everything fit my imagination of a tomb perfectly.

Qin Feng and the others scouted carefully ahead, Peanut walked silently with his head lowered, seemingly lost in thought, while I found myself captivated by the murals.

The murals here were different from those I’d seen before—they depicted what appeared to be a sacrificial ceremony. The paintings on the left and right walls mirrored each other, as if a single image had been split in two and pasted on either side. The figures stood in orderly rows, holding various offerings, and before them were people wearing strange masks, whose gestures suggested a ritual dance.

The murals might have covered the entire length of the passage. I couldn’t help but imagine the grandeur of such a ceremony. Peanut had said this place was closely linked to the ancient kingdom of Yelang, and judging by the unusual, colorfully embroidered vests the figures wore, that seemed plausible.

After we’d walked for a while, Old Tan suddenly tugged at my sleeve.

“What is it?” I asked, noticing how intently he was studying the murals.

“Don’t you find these murals a bit odd?” he said, gesturing with his chin at the painting before us.

The section he indicated showed a row of maidservants holding offerings, with the masked dancers in front of them.

“You mean the masked figures?” I looked closer. “Nothing strange—they’re probably just doing some kind of ancient rope dance.”

“Not them,” Old Tan replied, pointing with his finger. “Look at this.”

He was pointing at the offerings the maidservants carried. Each one held a large tray laden with sacrifices—or perhaps food. At first, I didn’t see what was odd. “It’s just fish, shrimp…” I began, then suddenly stopped.

Something wasn’t right. Thinking back, I realized all the offerings I’d seen so far had been aquatic—fish, shrimp, and so on. But whether as sacrifices or food, surely not everything would be seafood. I recalled that in ancient Chinese rituals, there were always livestock—oxen, sheep, pigs. Yet here, not a single animal appeared.

“Now you see it?” Old Tan shook his head. “All the offerings along the way have been seafood—completely different from traditional rituals in the Central Plains. And look at their clothing. I’m certain these were coastal people.”

“That’s a pretty firm conclusion,” I thought, knowing how much history was (or wasn’t) in his head.

Old Tan grinned and suddenly squatted down, beckoning me over. “Just look at this.”

I squatted beside him and saw, near the bottom of the mural, some faint, wavy lines. The paint was so pale I had to study it for a while before realizing these were waves on water. Looking around, I suddenly understood: these people were standing by the water’s edge.

But then I thought further and asked, “Couldn’t they be making offerings to a river god? Doesn’t have to be the sea, right?”

Old Tan scratched his head. “Heh, I’m just guessing.”

We continued onward, and I found the murals growing increasingly peculiar, though I couldn’t say exactly why. It wasn’t until we’d walked over a hundred meters that I began to understand.

For such a long stretch of wall, with hundreds—if not thousands—of maidservants and masked dancers depicted, I realized I had no idea what they were actually doing. In other words, the murals had no central theme, no clear message. Could abstract art have existed so long ago?

Just as I was pondering this, a sudden chill wind swept through.

“No wonder there haven’t been any side chambers—this passage still isn’t finished. Damn, how big is this place?” one of the porters cursed.

Seeing everyone stop, I moved to the front. By the light of our flashlights, I saw the passage stretched further ahead, but the way forward was strange—both sides were swallowed in darkness, with no walls, and judging by the draft, the sides of the passage seemed to open into empty space. Perhaps another stone bridge suspended in midair. But it was too dark ahead for our flashlights to penetrate.

“Flares,” Qin Feng ordered, and one of the porters quickly readied the launcher. Qin Feng looked up, then pointed forward, “Fire straight ahead.”

Old Tan tried to grab the launcher. “That’s not the scientific way—”

Before he could finish, the porter pulled the trigger. Instantly, a streak of fire shot from the barrel, and in a flash, the area ahead was lit as bright as day.

Startled by the blinding light, Old Tan and I instinctively shielded our eyes, only lowering our hands after four or five seconds. When we finally looked, all six of us stood dumbfounded.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Old Tan exclaimed. “Did the builders of this tomb want to play tricks on us?”

No one responded. Initially, I’d thought the most we’d find ahead was a narrow bridge suspended in the air. Who could have guessed that there were more than a dozen paths leading forward?

“So which way do we go?” one porter asked Qin Feng.

More than a dozen stone-paved roads fanned out before us, each suspended in midair and linked by iron chains, forming a pattern like half a spider’s web. Beneath them yawned a chasm at least three hundred meters deep.