Nie Jiuluo had guessed it early on: Yan Tuo came with a purpose from the start. He wanted to uncover certain secrets, and when direct questioning proved futile, and force wasn’t effective, he resorted to this roundabout approach.
It was indeed a great gift, a significant favor. If their positions were reversed, if Yan Tuo had fallen into her hands, what would she have done? She would have handed him over to Jiang Baichuan, instructing him to chain and lock him up, ensuring he couldn’t escape—while she couldn’t guarantee he’d rot in a cell for life, he certainly wouldn’t see daylight for three to five years at least.
As an enemy, he could have inflicted any harm on her, yet he hadn’t harmed a hair on her head. How could she not feel somewhat indebted? Compared to her life, what were a few questions worth?
Besides, she had carefully considered Yan Tuo’s questions, like “What is a Dog Tooth?” and “What is ‘Taking Root and Sprouting’?” She could answer them appropriately without revealing too much.
She brought up their previous conversation: “You were with him constantly, how could you not know what he is?”
Yan Tuo responded: “One day, they just appeared by your side. If they don’t tell you, how would you know?”
Nie Jiuluo felt a chill run down her spine.
She had used the pronoun “he,” but he had answered with “they.”
She had thought there was only one, but it turned out to be a whole nest of them.
“They don’t know you came to find me, do they?”
Yan Tuo: “No, and they don’t know about you either.”
Nie Jiuluo started: “Then didn’t they ask how you got into trouble?”
“They asked. I said I was driving past the board teeth when someone drugged me. Since Dog Tooth is still unconscious, and there are no other witnesses, truth, or lies, it’s my word alone.”
Nie Jiuluo’s heart raced: No wonder she had worried about endless troubles after being exposed, yet those troubles never came—Yan Tuo had erased her from the narrative out of his private motives.
In other words, he wanted to learn certain things from her but didn’t want his companions to know about these little maneuvers.
“Is there conflict between you and them?”
“Miss Nie, that’s off-topic and none of your concern. I just want to learn some information, and then we’ll be even.”
Nie Jiuluo stared at him for a while, then finally picked up a pair of chopsticks from the holder and rinsed them with hot water.
Yan Tuo secretly sighed in relief—if she was willing to eat, the dinner meeting was a success.
He bent down to grab a bottle of beer, knocking the cap off against the table edge: “Would you prefer beer or tea?”
Nie Jiuluo pushed her teacup forward: “Pour me some beer.”
They each drank their drinks without toasting and ate their food without conversation. Nie Jiuluo wasn’t in a hurry, and Yan Tuo didn’t press—after all, the shop was open all night, enough time to digest even the longest secrets.
After a while, Nie Jiuluo asked him: “Do you know about Yu the Great?”
“Yes, Yu the Great who tamed the floods.”
“What else did Yu the Great do?”
What else? Wasn’t flood control his main achievement? Opening mountains, digging channels, controlling floods…
Seeing his expression, Nie Jiuluo moved to the next question: “Do you know about ding vessels?”
Yan Tuo took a few seconds to transition from the common “ding” (top) to “ding” (tripod vessel): “The ding from ‘contending for the Central Plains’? Yes.”
“Do you know what ding vessels were used for?”
He knew this too, from history class: “For cooking meat.”
Nie Jiuluo said: “Alright, I know your level of understanding now. I’ll explain from the beginning, in as detailed as possible. I’ll address all four of your questions. No recording allowed—just listen while I speak, and try to restrain yourself. There’s no need to speak unless I ask you something. After I finish, I’ll leave time to answer some questions that can be answered. There’s quite a bit to cover, and I’ll inevitably get thirsty, so remember to pour my tea.”
She finished her remaining alcohol.
Yan Tuo complied, picking up the teapot to pour her first cup of tea.
In ancient times, people generally didn’t travel. First, there weren’t many means of transportation, and second, the roads were full of tigers and wolves, making travel risky. Most people spent their entire lives near where they lived, so they knew nothing about other places. For instance, someone from a southern tribe had never seen snow, while someone living in an arid region surviving on Stream Dew couldn’t imagine there were great rivers and vast seas in the world, with fish large enough to eat humans.
But being a king was different. Those who could be king had to understand their territory and the customs of various regions. The abdication from Yao to Shun to Yu wasn’t just about finding an heir and handing over the throne. After finding an heir, they had to nurture, train, and test them in every aspect. The Records of the Grand Historian states “Emperor Shun recommended Yu to Heaven as his successor. Seventeen years later, Emperor Shun passed away,” meaning that after Shun named Yu as his heir, he tested him for at least seventeen years, giving him various tasks. If he performed well, he could continue as heir; if he failed several times, he could be replaced.
So flood control was just one important task Emperor Shun assigned to Yu the Great.
During those seventeen years, Yu didn’t just control floods; he also traveled through the Nine Provinces to investigate local conditions. After becoming king, he ordered the Nine Provinces to contribute bronze to cast nine large ding vessels. These nine dings weren’t for cooking meat—they were ritual vessels. Each ding represented a province, and you could say these ding were like local chronicles. You had people engrave the local peculiarities and strange creatures he’d seen during his travels through each province. The Zuo Commentary also believes that the engravings on the ding were local maps and depictions of bizarre beasts unique to each region. You can think of them as travel guides—even if you’d never been there, you could learn about local attractions, specialties, and fierce beasts by looking at the guide.
Since recording wasn’t allowed, he had to take notes by hand.
Yan Tuo kept his phone’s notepad open, and hearing this, he typed in the words “Ding Books.”
In that era of limited public knowledge, such “Ding Books” were quite necessary.
He recalled how Sister Hua had bowed to a small bronze ding while calling out “Master Yu”—could “Master Yu” actually be “Master Yu the Great”?
Nie Jiuluo took a sip of tea and ate some braised dishes before continuing: “Let me ask you another question—is the soil the same everywhere?”
Yan Tuo thought for a moment: “No, different mineral content means different fertility.”
“What about color?”
“That’s different too. I remember the Northeast has black soil, Northern Shaanxi has yellow loess plateaus, and the South has… red soil?”
The Nine Provinces that Yu the Great divided certainly weren’t the same as today’s administrative regions. There’s a book called “The Tribute of Yu,” allegedly written by Yu the Great, recording the topography, soil, and products of various regions. Of course, now some scholars argue it wasn’t written by him—regardless, Yu the Great did establish tribute standards based on local conditions.
Simply put, it couldn’t be one-size-fits-all. If a place had fertile soil and favorable weather, it naturally produced more grain and had to pay more taxes. Conversely, if a place had poor soil where crops couldn’t even grow three inches tall, the grain tax should be reduced or exempted.
This was how Yu the Great examined the soil color, fertility, and products of each of the Nine Provinces one by one.
One of these provinces was Liang Province. Its exact boundaries are uncertain, but it roughly encompassed the area between Mount Hua and the Black Waters. In modern terms, the Stone River area we visited and many parts of the Qin-Ba mountain region would have been part of Liang Province. The Records of the Grand Historian states that here ‘the land is lower-upper grade, taxes are lower-middle in three grades,’ meaning the soil fertility was moderate, so tax collection couldn’t be too heavy—collecting at the lower-middle rate was sufficient. It also mentions that ‘its soil is blue-black,’ referring to blue-black soil, also called cyan soil. This distinguished it from the yellow soil, white soil, black soil, and others found elsewhere.
Yan Tuo’s Adam’s apple bobbed slightly as he started a new line in his notes, typing “cyan soil.”
This was the second time he’d heard the term “cyan soil”—Sister Hua had mentioned “cyan soil bearing grain, flowers showing fruit” when she bowed to the bronze ding.
Nie Jiuluo glanced at his phone, waiting for him to finish typing before continuing: “The thing called Dog Tooth was anciently known as ‘Ground Owl,’ and was engraved on this Liang Province ding—I’ll correct this statement later, but just listen for now.”
Yan Tuo’s whole body trembled. When Nie Jiuluo started talking about ancient times, he thought it would take a long to get to the main point, but she had reached it surprisingly quickly.
He couldn’t help asking: “Ground as in earth? Which ‘xiao’ character?”
“The one with ‘bird’ on top and ‘wood’ below.”
Ah, that ‘owl’ character. He asked no more questions, picking up his chopsticks to put a slice of tripe in his mouth, though it tasted like chewing wax.
Ground Owl, so that’s what it was called.
“The name Ground Owl has ‘ground’ in it, which is quite literal, because this creature emerges from underground, and only from cyan soil underground. Think of it like a plant—it won’t grow in other soils, only in cyan soil. Or understand it this way: other soils, whether yellow or white, are toxic to the Ground Owl. It can only break through cyan soil.”
At this point, Nie Jiuluo looked up at Yan Tuo: “Do you know what happened to the Nine Ding?”
Yan Tuo: “Still buried underground, or… in a museum?”
He truly didn’t know what had happened to the Nine Ding. Bronze items were durable and unlikely to decompose, so they must either be awaiting discovery or already excavated.
Judging by Nie Jiuluo’s expression, both his guesses were way off.
Back then, the Nine Ding were probably like the Imperial Seal—when Xia fell they went to Shang, when Shang fell they went to Zhou. During the Eastern Zhou period, the ding were still around, as evidenced by the Chu king sending someone to inquire about their size and weight, getting rebuffed—which is why later generations coined the term “inquiring about the ding” to refer to attempting to seize power.
After Eastern Zhou, it’s generally believed the Nine Ding went to the Qin state. The Records of the Grand Historian also records that “in the fifty-second year… the vessels, the Nine Ding, entered Qin.” There’s even a folk tale about a Qin king who died from severe injuries after insisting on trying to lift one to test its weight. In any case, the last historical mention of the Nine Ding was in Qin—after Qin, historical records never mentioned them again.
What I’m about to tell you, is take it as unofficial history—believe it or not.
After the Nine Ding entered Qin, they were simply stored somewhere. After all, they weren’t small trinkets suitable for casual appreciation, and besides, kings were busy—they couldn’t spend all day circling the ding. Later came Qin Shi Huang’s unification of the six states.
In his later years, Qin Shi Huang became obsessed with seeking immortality elixirs, and supernatural beings, which is well-documented in history. Many people, catering to his interests, offered various suggestions and strategies, though most were deceptive. However, two proposals caught the emperor’s attention.
One was Xu Fu’s plan to seek immortal mountains and beings in the Eastern Sea—there are many legends about Xu Fu, you can look them up if interested.
The other came from the official in charge of the Nine Ding.
You understand the job of watching the ding—very leisurely, leaving the guards plenty of time to study and contemplate. He reported to the emperor that the Liang Province ding recorded the Ground Owl, which emerged from cyan soil. The Ground Owl had two special characteristics. First was ‘seeking treasure’—’seek’ in classical Chinese means to approach or draw near. Ground Owls were attracted to treasure veins, like precious gems and jade. Controlling Ground Owls might lead to finding treasures, which is why they gained another name: “Gold-Sniffing Beast.”
They were gradually approaching the core matter. Yan Tuo lost his appetite for food and drink. He recalled asking Que Cha what the thing in his car was called, and she had answered “Lucky Cat.” At the time, he thought she was joking, but now he realized “Lucky Cat” and “Gold-Sniffing Beast” essentially carried the same meaning—both pointed toward considerable wealth.
He noticed Nie Jiuluo’s teacup was almost empty and picked up the teapot to refill it.
Nie Jiuluo continued: “Qin Shi Huang, wealthy beyond measure, naturally cared nothing for ‘seeking treasure.’ But the second characteristic was different—you might have guessed it. Ground Owls maintain youthful appearances and longevity, not only living for very long periods but showing no signs of aging. Their skin doesn’t sag, their fur doesn’t change color.”
The image of Lin Xirou’s face flashed before Yan Tuo’s eyes.
Auntie Lin, Lin Xirou—indeed, she hadn’t changed much over the years. Throughout his childhood, they had moved households several times. Perhaps it was precisely because Lin Xirou never aged that they had to move, fearing neighbors would notice something amiss.
He couldn’t help asking: “Then what exactly is a Ground Owl?”
Nie Jiuluo answered indirectly: “Ancient times were also called the mythological era, with many superpowered divine beings and strange, mysterious creatures. The Xia and Shang dynasties were a transition period—such things probably existed but lacked historical documentation. By the end of Western Zhou, everything suddenly became clear and grounded—there were historical records, physical evidence, Zhou rituals, and specific historical figures, with conflicts and affairs not much different from today. Where did all those mysterious creatures recorded in the ding books go? Nobody knows. Some speculate that something happened, resulting in a one-time purge. And the time of this purge was during the undocumented Xia-Shang period, before Zhou.”
“Those who could become emperor wouldn’t rely on just one approach—wouldn’t put all their eggs in one basket. They needed multiple plans. So while he had people supervising the construction of treasure ships for the Eastern Sea expedition, he was also selecting elite troops to search for Ground Owls.”
Search for Ground Owls?
Yan Tuo’s mind stirred: “By Qin Shi Huang’s time, Ground Owls were already just legend?”
“Yes, didn’t I just say? It seemed there had been a great purge, and those strange creatures recorded in the ding books were unseen by Qin times. Though it’s possible the continuous expansion of human activity compressed these creatures’ territories, forcing them to hide more deeply, or even leading to extinction—don’t think humans weren’t formidable just because they weren’t as powerful as fierce beasts. Though humans were at a disadvantage in size and killing power, they had numbers. You might lose one-on-one or ten-to-one, but a hundred-to-one? That’s guaranteed extinction. Anyway, by Qin Shi Huang’s time, Ground Owls were already legendary.”
The reason Xu Fu’s story was widely spread while the Ground Owl tale remained unknown was because Ground Owls were described in the ding books as “fierce beasts” and “evil creatures.” They were bloodthirsty carnivores, and more terrifyingly, people bitten or scratched by Ground Owls, if the wound was even slightly serious, were incurable. Once the wound took root and sprouted, growing beast fur, the person was effectively ruined—no different from a beast. Seeking immortal elixirs and approaching divine beings sounded more sophisticated and romantic. Finding Ground Owls wasn’t something to advertise, so it was kept secret.
Around 210 BCE, about 2,200 years ago, on a deep night when Xu Fu’s treasure ships set sail for the Eastern Sea seeking immortals, at the same time, the elite troops searching for Ground Owls—these men wore black headwraps and were called the Headwrap Army—secretly entered the ancient forests of Southern Ba, where cyan soil was found.