One had to admit, the entrance was quite cleverly designed.
Most people wouldn’t think to look upward for an entrance leading downward. Even if they did look up, these scattered hollows resembled pockmarks, so obvious that they wouldn’t spark any curiosity.
Who would bother climbing to almost the cave’s ceiling to check if the hollows held any secrets?
Besides, even if someone had such an inclination, gravity would prevent them from climbing up anyway.
Yan Tuo was completely puzzled: “How do we climb up there?”
Shan Qiang replied smugly: “Of course, you can’t just climb randomly, we have…”
Halfway through his sentence, remembering Chen Fu was nearby, his vigilance kicked in. He hurriedly instructed Sun Li: “Blindfold him and take him to the corner, keep him out of the way.”
After Chen Fu was led away, he continued: “We have a route.”
He pulled out his phone.
Unless it was a satellite phone, regular phones had no signal here and could only be used as cameras or for storing images.
Shan Qiang showed them a photo of an old yellowish-brown silk cloth. It was covered in seemingly random ink strokes running east and west, looking like scattered worms.
Looking closer, these “worms” appeared segmented, with a faint red line threading through some of them like a needle and thread.
Nie Jiuluo: “These are…”
Shan Qiang explained: “An ancient star map! The world’s oldest recognized star map is a Chinese one, kept in the British Library – stolen by the British from the Mogao Caves in Dunhuang. That map was supposedly drawn during the Tang Dynasty. But ours is even more impressive – from the Qin Dynasty! A Qin Dynasty star map!”
He tapped his phone screen emphatically and pointed at the cave ceiling, indicating they should compare the two.
Nie Jiuluo remained silent. Different fields might as well be different worlds – she knew nothing about astronomy, recognizing only the Big Dipper because it resembled a ladle.
But even the Big Dipper wasn’t on this map – either the astronomical observations back then were too crude, or the night sky was vastly different from today’s.
She pointed to a star at the center terminus of the red line: “What’s this star called? Why was it chosen as the entrance?”
Shan Qiang was momentarily speechless – as a mere runner, how would he know? The map had no annotations.
He cleared his throat and glossed over it: “Anyway, this faint red line is the route map. If you climb following the sequence of this line from the starting point, you’ll reach the entrance.”
With the map and corresponding hollows in the cave ceiling, finding the red line’s starting point wasn’t difficult. However, the problem was: that while the first few steps were manageable, like rock climbing, the dome shape made it increasingly difficult to gain leverage as you went higher.
Shan Qiang deliberately built suspense: “You’ll understand as you climb. I’ll guide you from below – who wants to go first?”
Yan Tuo said: “I’ll go.”
He took off his backpack, gave his jacket to Nie Jiuluo, and after a few casual stretches, walked to the spot Shan Qiang indicated on the cave wall.
It wasn’t too bad – the cave wasn’t damp, and the walls were rugged enough that climbing the first two or three meters bare-handed wasn’t difficult.
He took a deep breath, grabbed a protrusion above, and sprang upward. Thanks to his recent strength recovery training, the climb wasn’t too strenuous.
Shan Qiang alternated between checking his phone and watching Yan Tuo, constantly correcting his direction: “Right, keep going up, slightly to the right, yes, you’re on the right track.”
Nie Jiuluo approached the wall, looking up at Yan Tuo’s climb, equally curious about what Shan Qiang had up his sleeve.
As Yan Tuo climbed higher, it became increasingly challenging. Sometimes when he gripped too hard, fine gravel would fall from above. Nie Jiuluo clutched Yan Tuo’s jacket tighter, growing more anxious with each moment, fearing he might fall.
Shan Qiang suddenly called out: “Good, now, look at the edge of that hollow, there’s a hand ring. Look carefully, it’s the same color as the rock, very deceptive. It’s magnetic, will stick up there – you can pull on it.”
Yan Tuo, breathing heavily, gritted his teeth and freed one hand to feel around the hollow’s edge.
His hand suddenly caught something – he’d found it.
Having a ring to grab made things much easier. Yan Tuo examined it carefully: the ring was heavy, probably an iron alloy, but looked identical to stone. One end was welded with a hinge; normally, gravity would make it hang down, but the magnetic force above kept it attached unless pulled.
He figured it out: “So the faint red line shows the distribution of these hand rings? That’s why even when people reach the top facing away from the ground, they can still secure themselves?”
Shan Qiang nodded vigorously: “And notice there are footholds in many places. As long as you have enough arm strength and are careful, reaching the top isn’t a problem.”
Nie Jiuluo understood now and let out a long sigh: what a pity her arm couldn’t handle the strain, otherwise climbing up like this would have been interesting…
Suddenly, something occurred to her. She walked back to Shan Qiang: “This doesn’t make sense – everyone who travels to Qing Rang climbs up one by one like this?”
This kind of climbing requires significant strength and endurance. She didn’t know the others well enough to comment, but Jiang Baichuan would struggle, and even Xing Shen would find it challenging.
Shan Qiang said: “Of course not.”
What did he mean by “of course not”?
Just as Nie Jiuluo was about to ask, a familiar voice came from the cave ceiling: “You’ve arrived? We’ve been waiting for you.”
Nie Jiuluo looked up at the sound.
A bald head poked out from the so-called “entrance” at the top of the cave.
It was Yu Rong.
She first looked down and nodded at Nie Jiuluo, then, as if realizing someone was missing, turned to look to the side.
Yan Tuo had climbed to the upper half of the dome and, facing downward, could only look at Yu Rong upside down, his posture too awkward for greetings.
Yu Rong glanced at him, exasperated, and said to Shan Qiang: “Couldn’t you just call for someone to help when you arrived? Don’t you know we’re short on time? Why are you encouraging people to play ‘The Exorcist’ here?”
Shan Qiang didn’t dare argue with Yu Rong, stammering: “They’re… first-timers, I just wanted to demonstrate the principle.”
What now? Yan Tuo couldn’t decide whether to continue or not, feeling like a suspended roast duck.
Yu Rong withdrew irritably, and soon after, with a clatter, a long iron chain dropped down, just long enough to reach the ground, with foot stands at the end for easy stepping.
Yu Rong’s voice came from above: “Hurry up, who’s first?”
Nie Jiuluo went first. As soon as she was steady, the chain retracted – there must be some gear mechanism, as evidenced by the clicking sounds.
This was even more convenient than an elevator, and the footstands made it stable. Gripping the chain felt almost like ascending on clouds.
Yan Tuo watched her disappear into the entrance, then the chain dropped again for Shan Qiang, who also made it up in less than ten seconds.
So he had to keep struggling up, or as Yu Rong put it, “playing The Exorcist” – what was the point?
Yan Tuo had no choice but to continue climbing hand over foot, finally managing to reach the entrance before they lowered the chain for the next person.
While the “entrance” looked small from below, it opened into a decent-sized chamber of about ten square meters, complete with a winch for pulling people up and down.
Nie Jiuluo, having arrived earlier, had already learned the details and explained quietly to him: “Every time they travel to Qing Rang, they do need someone strong to climb up first. The entrance has a stone cover that needs to be moved aside before others can be winched up.”
Fine, Yan Tuo dusted off his hands – his climb could count as a warm-up.
Next came lifting Chen Fu. Yan Tuo had worried that someone in his dazed state would struggle with the footstands and chain grip – but Yu Rong simply replaced the footstands with a large iron hook, caught Chen Fu’s bindings, and hauled him up like a pig.
After everyone and their luggage were up, Shan Qiang moved the stone cover back over the entrance with a click.
The chamber went pitch black, and Yan Tuo instinctively reached for his flashlight.
Yu Rong had already turned hers on, directing the beam to a corner where Yan Tuo now noticed a hole, just large enough for a person to crawl through.
Yu Rong pointed into the hole: “This way, we’ll have to crawl. Sun Li, you’ve been here before, you lead. Everyone else follows in line.”
Crawl? Shan Qiang thought this would be difficult for Chen Fu: “He’ll be hard to manage.”
Yu Rong thought he was being stupid: “Who says he has to crawl? What do you think the luggage sleds are for?”
So Sun Li led the way, with everyone crawling into the tunnel one after another. The tunnel was well-maintained, at least the floor was smooth – after crawling about ten meters, Nie Jiuluo heard the rumbling of wheels. Looking back, she saw the “sled” was a long wooden board with wheels and a pulling rope at the front, allowing someone lying on it to be pulled along.
After another stretch, the tunnel turned downward into a deep shaft, but like before, there was a winch system to lower people down.
Nie Jiuluo could roughly visualize the cross-section of their route in his mind: first up, then level, then down. The climbing was merely a diversion—ultimately, they were heading underground.
After passing through the deep well, they once again found solid ground beneath their feet.
This time, the space opened up considerably, and human voices grew louder. The lighting was a mix of old and new: solar-powered lamps, phosphorescent lights, and burning bonfires.
Yu Rong had Mountain Strong and his men take Chen Fu away to be confined, while she led the other two deeper inside, explaining the situation as they walked: “Everyone’s here now. It’s safer to stay inside than camping outside. Though honestly, fire is still the most convenient for lighting. Solar lamps need to be taken outside to charge, and phosphorescent lights need to absorb light first—both are too high-maintenance.”
Suddenly, Nie Jiuluo remembered something: “When you were walking at night earlier, did you hear any beast calls?”
Does beast call?
Yu Rong scratched her head: “I think… maybe? It wouldn’t be strange though—the Qinling Mountains have wild beasts. Isn’t it normal for them to howl a few times at night?”
Nie Jiuluo said: “It wasn’t an ordinary animal. Near Nanba Monkey Head, there was a very strange call. After Chen Fu heard it, his reaction was extremely unusual, as if… as if he’d encountered one of his kind and wanted to respond… If you’d heard it, you’d remember.”
Yu Rong thought carefully before shaking her head firmly: “No when we passed through the Nanba Monkey Head area, everything was completely silent.”
It must have been a coincidence, though it made sense—the call had only occurred twice briefly, not continuously. Anyone passing through a moment earlier or later would have missed it.
Nie Jiuluo thought that after they finished here if they had any strength left, they should suggest Xing Shen take a trip to Nanba Monkey Head.
Yan Tuo looked around. So far, it felt like they were walking through deep underground caves, nothing particularly special. “So we’ve entered… the Golden Human Gate?”
Yu Rong almost laughed: “Golden Human Gate? In your dreams! This is just Old Qin Village, the inner village. The outer village developed later.”
After rounding another bend, the full view of the inner village appeared before them.
In the flickering firelight, the first thing Yan Tuo saw were the levels carved into the cave walls, not just on one side but in all directions. It was quite a spectacular sight.
Yu Rong explained: “We can only speculate now, but this place is close to Golden Human Gate Number One. The Coiled Head Army probably used this as their camp initially. These levels were likely all sleeping platforms back then.”
Regardless of their original purpose, they were certainly being used for sleeping now. Yan Tuo saw tents set up on each level, with some people playing cards and others sleeping—though there were too few people, making the vast space feel eerily empty rather than lively.
Yu Rong continued leading them deeper inside. After walking a few steps, they heard clear, crisp sounds echoing through the cave.
Though the sound wasn’t unpleasant—it could even be called melodious—Yu Rong became visibly irritated and raised her voice: “Stop that tapping! None of you know the proper tune anyway.”
As she spoke, they rounded another bend.
This time, Yan Tuo saw Xing Shen, alone, holding a wooden stick and standing before a set of nine stone chimes.
This was an ancient instrument that Yan Tuo had only seen in museums.
Yu Rong snorted, half explaining, half complaining: “He told me striking these things could summon yin soldiers. But the problem is, we have the chimes but no musical score. So how do we summon them? Surely the yin soldiers won’t just come bouncing along to random ding-dong noises.”
Xing Shen looked up and immediately saw the three approaching figures.
More precisely, he saw their luminous silhouettes. He had known that Yan Tuo’s body light was similar to Nie Jiuluo’s, but he hadn’t expected them to be this alike.
He was momentarily stunned: why wasn’t he the one who resembled her? The Mad Blade and Mad Dog should have been this world’s perfect match.
His thoughts were interrupted by Yu Rong’s impatient voice: “Well, everyone’s here now. Can you finally tell us what you need to say?”
Nie Jiuluo finally understood why Yu Rong had been so hurried when they first met, so eager to rush them along. Something involving Xing Shen could only be discussed when everyone was “present”?
No wonder Yu Rong seemed so irritated.
Xing Shen gave a brief sound of acknowledgment and, without exchanging pleasantries, got straight to the point.
He pointed at the stone chimes before him with his wooden stick: “You all recognize this?”
Yan Tuo nodded: “Of course, they’re chimes. Are they original Qin Dynasty pieces or later replicas?”
If they were originals, they’d be extremely valuable, being Qin Dynasty artifacts—it showed some integrity that Jiang Baichuan and his people, despite their greed, had never tried to steal these.
Xing Shen shook his head: “To be precise, these are called Coiled Head Qing. Regular chimes are more refined; qing is cruder. They’re among the most ancient percussion instruments—several stone slabs with holes drilled in them, hung up for striking, make a qing.”
Nie Jiuluo stepped closer to look.
They were indeed different from the chimes she’d seen during her folk music research. Though the overall structure was similar, these were hung with stone slabs of various sizes.
Yan Tuo also approached, touching them and tapping them with his finger. The sound was strange—neither stone-like nor metallic—he couldn’t quite place the material.
Even more bizarre was that the stone slabs were all in human shapes, but not of standing figures: some had their arms raised to the sky, others were kneeling, some were prone, and others were in various poses.
Yu Rong repeated her earlier point: “Whether they’re chimes or qing, you still don’t have the score.”
Xing Shen replied calmly: “There is a score. Uncle Jiang told me that at the edge of the Black and White Rapids, there were countless human statues, similar to the Qin Emperor’s Terracotta Warriors. But since you can’t ride horses underground, they were mostly human figures, possibly mixed with other sculptures. Among the human statues, there was supposedly a group of musician statues—ancient musical performers. Through them, we can find the correct score for striking the Coiled Head Qing.”
Yu Rong barely followed: “So you’re saying we need to go to the edge of the Black and White Rapids, find these musician statues, and somehow extract the musical score from them? If I remember correctly, there are thousands of statues there, if not tens of thousands. How do we find the right ones? We might run into Lin Xirou and her people while searching.”
Nie Jiuluo interjected: “Let’s put aside how to find them for now. I want to know what happens after we find the score and successfully strike the Coiled Head Qing?”
Xing Shen hesitated before speaking: “What you know about the past isn’t false, just not very detailed. Many details are missing.”
When the Coiled Head Army entered the mountains back then, it wasn’t all at once. Like modern engineering projects divided into phases, the Coiled Head Army arrived in batches.
The first batch of the Coiled Head Army did much of the foundational work, such as incorporating the Dog Family, searching for the Green Soil entrance, casting the Golden Human Gates, and so on. After achieving some initial success, the second batch arrived, began forming groups and teams, dividing different areas, and advancing gradually to explore deeper inside.
Everything was normal at first, but gradually, unexpected things began to happen.
Soldiers started falling ill, first sporadically, then in succession, usually an entire unit at a time.
The accompanying physicians diagnosed it as an epidemic. In those times, with limited medical knowledge, catching an epidemic disease was terrifying. The main force temporarily halted their exploration of Green Soil and began dealing with the epidemic, following medical advice to isolate the sick in quarantine.
However, before long, something even stranger occurred—the quarantined patients began disappearing daily. It started with one or two, perhaps not noticeable at first, but when it happened every day and in increasing numbers, it became alarming.
The Coiled Head Army increased day and night security for these personnel and finally discovered that these people were escaping on their own, secretly crossing the Golden Human Gates and running deeper inside.
Fortunately, when caught, these people were still fairly lucid and able to communicate normally. According to them, they couldn’t control themselves—they felt called by some mysterious voice, compelling them to rush through the Golden Human Gates, wanting to go deeper and deeper.
Some people said they would dream of a sun wrapped in blackness, which seemed to hold a fatal attraction for them.
What nonsense—it was as if they had all been possessed!
The Coiled Head Army’s leader made two decisions at the time. First, to send small teams deep into the Golden Human Gates to bring back those who had fled—they were comrades after all, and couldn’t be abandoned. Second, to place those who hadn’t yet fled under strict surveillance while seeking outside help from skilled physicians.
In short, they still believed it was an epidemic, causing the infected to hallucinate, speak nonsense, and lose control of their behavior.
However, the situation continued to worsen.
Xing Shen heaved a long sigh: “Those who went to catch the escapees either never returned or came back infected themselves. Those under strict surveillance fared even worse—speaking gibberish, banging their heads against the ground, behaving maniacally. But the worst was yet to come. As time passed, these people’s bodies and appearances began to undergo terrifying changes.”
Nie Jiuluo felt her throat go dry: “They became Xiao ghosts?”
Xing Shen nodded: “Exactly. Can you imagine the scene? A group of confined people, each with green faces and protruding fangs like evil spirits, howling and wailing like wolves through the night. What a horrifying sight that must have been. People were superstitious back then—the uninfected soldiers began to lose morale, believing the place was cursed by evil spirits. Some fled, while others were driven mad by the horror.”
“It wasn’t until this point that the leaders began to take it truly seriously. After analyzing the infected people, they discovered that although many had entered the Golden Human Gates, not everyone became sick—the anomalies appeared only in the teams that had ventured deepest inside.”
Yu Rong was beginning to understand: “The ones who went deepest crossed some kind of boundary, and crossing it caused the sickness?”
Xing Shen: “Correct. At that time, there was no concept of the Black and White Rapids. You could say the Black and White Rapids were carved out by the footsteps of these infected people.”
Yan Tuo swallowed quietly: “Then what happened?”
“Later, one day, those who were most severely ill broke through the defense line and fled en masse. Hundreds of people rushed deep into the Golden Human Gates like madmen, as if swallowed by a black hole, never making even the slightest sound again.”
“Fortunately, several dozen of those less severely ill who could still communicate remained. After much discussion, the Coiled Head Army’s leader made a decision.”