Chapter Ninety-Four: The Path to Ascension

In my hometown, there are many air-raid shelters, most of which were built during the period of hostility between China and the Soviet Union, when the slogan was “store grain widely, dig deep tunnels.” By the mid-1970s, most of these shelters had fallen into disrepair, and as a child, I often played inside them.

The place we found ourselves in now felt just like an air-raid shelter. The ceiling was oval-shaped, and its width was just enough for a person to stretch out both arms. The rock surfaces bore the obvious marks of human excavation. As we pressed forward, pools of water began to appear beneath our feet, and before long the water had risen past our ankles. It was at this point that we encountered a fork in the tunnel ahead.

Left or right? That sickly fellow had run faster than a dog, and the river water, mixed with silt, was pitch-black. Footprints beneath the surface were impossible to discern.

“If he’s not one of us, this won’t work. What do you say, Master Cha? Should we just pull out?”

“People who share a similar fate with us tend to make predictable choices. I believe he must have discovered something,” Cha Wenbin replied.

“What? That mud-eating fellow? He’s a strange one.”

Cha Wenbin said, “There’s reason behind his actions. There’s a hint of corpse odor in this mud. He’s no ordinary man. I’ve seen the knife he carries once before—it’s called Cold Moon. Believe it or not, legend has it that this was the very blade Jing Ke used to assassinate the King of Qin.”

“Good heavens, never would’ve guessed. That must be worth a fortune,” the fat man remarked, for in his eyes, everything was measured by money.

“It’s not about its value. That knife chooses its master. If he can wield it, he’s definitely no ordinary man. If even Lord Long regards him highly, he’s certainly someone exceptional.”

I could no longer resist asking the question that had been weighing on my mind: “Who, exactly, is Lord Long?”

“He’s a government man, I suppose. I can’t say for certain. His people are a rather unique existence, drawn from all walks of life and backgrounds. In this world, there are many such organizations that operate in secrecy. Some matters can only be handled by people like them. Law and morality don’t constrain them—they’re loyal only to their leader. They’re akin to the Military Intelligence Bureau or the Central Bureau of the Nationalist era.”

“America has them too,” Old Gu added. “You probably only know the FBI, which is semi-public. In reality, there are many similar hidden departments.”

The fat man joked, “You’re not a secret agent, are you?”

Old Gu replied, “I can’t say I am, because I’m not.” It was a classic deadpan American-style joke—rather chilly.

I continued, asking Cha Wenbin, “Are you part of that organization?”

He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I’m not, nor do I wish to be. It doesn’t interest me. Well, I think I know which way we should go. Our friend left us a marker.” Cha Wenbin pointed to the stone wall on the left side of the tunnel. “There’s a fresh scratch here.”

The water was growing ever deeper, now rising past my chest. My waterproof suit was holding up, but I worried about Old Gu—the cold could be dangerous for the elderly. So I suggested, “Professor, perhaps you should withdraw for now. The situation here is too uncertain. You are a scholar; there’s no need to risk so much.”

“No,” he replied. “Do you know Peng Jiamu?”

“Of course. Every Chinese person knows the name—he’s the scientist who disappeared in Lop Nor a few years ago. It was all over the newspapers and TV.”

“He was my friend, and the Chinese scholar I respected most. For a scientist, to die trapped by illness is a regretful fate.”

I began to feel a deep sense of reverence for this faux foreign professor’s character, and could only urge the fat man to look out for him.

At some point, a sour, rank odor began to fill my nostrils—the kind that comes from stagnant water left too long in a tank.

“Why does the water smell so bad? It should be flowing, so this doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s the scent of decay. Haven’t you noticed the slippery feeling underfoot?” Cha Wenbin’s next words I wished he would take back, or that I hadn’t heard them: “Do you see the greasy film floating atop the water? That’s corpse oil. We’re likely near a burial pit.”

If you don’t scrub a pot clean before boiling water, a film of rainbow-colored grease forms on the surface. That was exactly what surrounded us now. As someone who loves cleanliness, my stomach began to churn.

The fat man, apparently dissatisfied, continued to add fuel to the fire: “Those hard things we’re stepping on—are they bones?”

Old Gu warned, “So mind your footing—don’t get stabbed by any bones. As bodies decompose, they produce ammonia, which is deadly gas. If you start feeling unwell, don’t push yourself.”

The water kept rising, and soon we would need to swim. Who knows how many years this place had lain undisturbed? My worry now was whether any biting fish lurked in these depths.

All around was quiet—our headlamps collided, the only sounds were the splashing of water. I tried to keep calm, but my foot suddenly slipped, and I lost my balance, colliding with Old Gu.

Given his age, Old Gu couldn’t withstand such force and fell as well. Both of us flailed in the water and slipped under. I have no idea how much dirty water went into my mouth, but when I finally struggled back to the surface, it was just me and Old Gu—Fatty and Cha Wenbin had vanished!

From the moment we fell in to the moment we surfaced, it couldn’t have been more than ten seconds. Was it supernatural?

As I was about to search for them, a stone suddenly struck near my head with a loud thunk.

“Over here!” I heard Fatty’s voice. Looking in that direction, I saw him about ten meters away, his head pressed to the water’s surface, grinning at me.

Old Gu and I hurried over, swimming as the water was now above our noses. When we arrived, we saw a hole had been opened in the stone wall. We clambered out of the water one after another. This spot was truly hidden—just thirty centimeters above the water, a triangular cone-shaped opening led inside. To enter, we had to dive underwater once more, and only upon entering did we realize that there was an entirely different world within.

Fatty pointed to the sickly young man crouching in the back and said, “That guy signaled us in.”

I snapped, “So you weren’t concerned whether we lived or died? I nearly drowned! Hey, how did he find his way in?”

“Who knows? If he hadn’t waved at us, I doubt I would have noticed. Just now, Cha Wenbin said this might be a path to ascension.”

Only then did I notice the difference here. Both sides of the stone walls were carved with images, though those near the entrance had become indistinct from years of submersion. The murals were painted in white and red, with crude lines. By modern standards, they could be considered abstract art. The mural stretched from our position upward, nearly uninterrupted—I could make out carriages, people, and some animals.

Cha Wenbin asked, “Old Gu, you’re the researcher—what style is this mural?”

“After the Han dynasty, tomb murals became colored and the figures more three-dimensional. By the Sui and Tang dynasties, they reached their peak. This mural appears to be much older than the Han—perhaps even from the Spring and Autumn or Warring States periods. It closely resembles those discovered on the Gobi desert at the end of last century, though the time gap is vast, which doesn’t quite make sense.”

Cha Wenbin added, “We estimate the tomb layer below dates to the Southern Song, so logically this area should be from the same era. How could art from ancient times appear here?”

Old Gu pressed close to the mural as he walked along, calling out after about three meters, “Come look—this mural’s story is told from bottom to top, indicating that the artists, like us, ascended along this path.” He then asked the sickly young man, “How did you discover this place?”

“Intuition,” he answered, for the first time speaking, his head still bowed. His voice was rough yet strangely magnetic.

“Your intuition is remarkable,” Old Gu praised. “This mural is of great historical value—it could push Jiangnan civilization back by two thousand years. The opening scene depicts a thriving tribe; the animals symbolize wealth, those holding weapons represent military might, and this figure—” Old Gu pointed to a human figure in the mural—“Look at him. His image differs from the others. Notice the triangle atop his head, like a hat. He appears most frequently in the mural, so he must have been a person of high status.”

Soon after, Old Gu called out again, “Come here, come here, look at what these people are worshipping.”

The mural showed six people, led by the one with the triangle atop his head. Their knees were drawn at sharp angles, indicating a prostrate posture. Strangely, the object of their worship was an oval shape with two short slanting lines beneath it. Above the oval stood another person, also with a triangle atop his head, arms outstretched.

I ventured, “Could that be a cauldron?”

Old Gu responded excitedly, “Exactly! That’s a cauldron! The person standing atop the cauldron is their leader. This is an immensely important clue—it means we can narrow the time frame to before the Western Zhou period. This discovery could very well change history!”