As autumn drew to a close, Nie Jiuluo’s solo exhibition preparations were winding down. The sculptures had entered their air-drying phase, and post-production hadn’t yet begun, making this period more relaxed than the previous days.
Taking advantage of this time, just before the mountain closure, Yan Tuo and his companions made another trip to Jin Ren Gate.
In truth, the mule handlers were already reluctant to venture into the mountains this season. The north grew cold early, and though the snow hadn’t fallen yet, the mountain winds cut like knives, howling and slashing at their faces. The journey was only possible thanks to their relationship with the familiar Professor Yu.
Yes, that bald Professor Yu had returned, wearing frameless black glasses and wrapped in a shabby cotton-padded jacket, every inch of her radiating poverty.
The mule handlers couldn’t bring themselves to raise their prices and instead asked her sympathetically, “Professor Yu, is the university pressure that heavy?”
She had been coming back repeatedly throughout the year, and each trip made the mules lose three jin of weight.
Yu Rong had grown quite adept at playing the role of professor: “Indeed, my last paper wasn’t accepted, and I didn’t get the promotion. The academic path isn’t an easy one.”
As she spoke, she adjusted her headscarf and cat hair fell from her sleeve.
…
For the first time, Nie Jiuluo experienced the joy of traveling by mule. During her last ride, her mind hadn’t been clear, and she’d spent the entire journey being picky and disgusted with the mule.
During a rest stop, she even filmed a video of the mule: everything could be sculpted, all was potential material, and one never knew when it might prove useful.
Yan Tuo came over and sat beside her. “If Pei Ke comes up, you really won’t meet her?”
The chances of meeting Pei Ke were quite slim. She had been missing for so many years and had probably only crossed the stream waters a couple of times. Besides, as she had said herself, for those who lived underground, going “upward” was a difficult and uncomfortable thing.
Just how uncomfortable was it? Yan Tuo had never experienced it himself and could only imagine: perhaps it was like someone from a temperate zone going to the extreme cold, where everything was torturous. Or maybe the air they breathed and the pressure their bodies endured were different, leading to breakdown if endured too long.
Nie Jiuluo nodded. “I really won’t.”
Yan Tuo felt it was a shame: “This might be the only chance in this lifetime.”
Nie Jiuluo smiled. “I just won’t acknowledge her. I can hide on the side and just look at her, that’s enough.”
Just looking would be fine, knowing that everyone was in their place and doing well was enough.
But it wasn’t appropriate to let Pei Ke know she had come back to life. She didn’t understand this mother, and after being separated for so long, it was even harder to guess her thoughts.
What if she developed designs on the underwater stone cave? If even a Nu Wa statue made of clay could be revered as divine by the White-Eyed Ghosts, what more the flesh of Nu Wa?
So, better to avoid complications.
When they reached Jin Ren Gate, they divided tasks as before: Sun Li and others guarded the entrance, while Yan Tuo and a group of four brought equipment to the stream.
The journey was smooth – there was no sign of Jiang Baichuan, and they didn’t even encounter the deformed ground owls that had been banished here. Yu Rong speculated that due to the seasonal changes and scarcity of food in the area, the ground owls must have migrated elsewhere in search of sustenance.
After all, both the Qing soil and the underground were vast.
Winter was approaching, and although the stream was calmer than before, it was also more frigidly cold, making it unsuitable for diving. The luminous paint characters that Yan Tuo had applied earlier had mostly faded with time – even under a flashlight, they barely glowed or only showed partially, patchy like they’d been gnawed by dogs.
Yu Rong sighed: “Every time we come, lighting remains a major problem.”
Flashlights were convenient but needed batteries. Solar lamps claimed to be recyclable but required sunlight to charge. Night vision devices worked well, but needed charging, and even military-grade ones couldn’t last more than a day and night.
In the vast underground, high-tech equipment’s glory didn’t last long before succumbing to the harsh environment.
Yu Rong felt the perfect solution would be a night-luminous pearl – that would be a perpetual motion machine for lighting. But the composition of night-luminous pearls remained a mystery. The one in Empress Dowager Cixi’s tomb was valued at 1.08 million taels of silver in 1908 – completely unaffordable.
Que Cha chimed in: “That’s why we’re not suited for going down there. I can’t imagine how to live without light.”
Nie Jiuluo suddenly said: “Isn’t there a saying that nature provides a way for all life? The White-Eyed Ghosts don’t have sun, but their eyes are startlingly white as if they carry their pair of small suns.”
Whether the White-Eyed Ghosts were blind or carried their own small suns didn’t interest Yan Tuo. He called everyone: “Let’s get to work.”
Since they came to meet someone, they needed to make some attempts rather than just standing by the stream waiting.
Shouting inside wasn’t practical, and both the head chime and the musician figurine were destroyed. After much thought, Yan Tuo and Nie Jiuluo came up with one point to utilize.
The Black and White Stream had wind.
Indeed there was wind – even far from the stream, they could hear its faint sound, growing more obvious as they got closer.
Yan Tuo wanted to send some paper notes down, writing or printing simple meeting requests using luminous materials, using the wind to spread them as widely as possible.
With enough quantity, some would surely be seen, and once seen, there would be a chance for a meeting since Pei Ke had promised to let him see Yan Xin.
Initially, he planned to use drones, but with the complex terrain below and almost zero visibility, the probability of drone crashes was too high. Yan Tuo got inspiration from modern military propaganda leaflet shells and ribbon firecrackers used in warfare. He contacted relevant manufacturers and, under the pretense of using them for an opening ceremony, custom-ordered special confetti shells and two detachable small ceremonial cannons for launching.
Time to work.
Yan Tuo and Yu Rong assembled the ceremonial cannons while Nie Jiuluo and Que Cha prepared the confetti shells. Soon, two small cannons were set up, their muzzles tilted, pointing across the stream.
At the final moment, Que Cha suddenly worried: “What if we attract them up here and they capture us down there again, like last time?”
Yan Tuo said: “Let’s take the gamble, though I don’t think that will happen.”
He pointed to the confetti shells: “The confetti either has Yan Xin’s name or Pei Ke’s and mine printed on them. Pei Ke is clever; she can guess I’ve come only for a meeting. She didn’t keep me last time, so she probably won’t this time either.”
The confetti shells were loaded, and both small cannons fired simultaneously.
Nie Jiuluo watched quietly from the side.
Being “ceremonial” cannons, they came with sound effects – such festive sounds had probably never before appeared in this desolate Qing soil.
Shell after shell soared across the stream, disappearing into the distant, unknowable darkness, then exploding far away.
The confetti shells used paper with dazzling effects, and with the luminous material of the text, they could faintly see traces of light even when they burst in the distance.
Today’s quantity was one hundred shells, and Yan Tuo had arranged for Sun Li and others to deliver new ones daily. This trip would involve seven days of cannon fire; whether it could summon anyone was up to fate.
After the hundred shells were fired, silence fell again around them.
The stream gurgled, the wind howled, and though Nie Jiuluo couldn’t see, she imagined how the great wind in the darkness would sweep up the paper pieces, delivering them to every nook and cranny.
She even saw some paper pieces blown back, a scattered few spinning above the stream for a while, like lost, panicked butterflies, before falling into the water and floating away.
Yu Rong squinted, looking across the stream through night vision equipment: “It’s strange – when it’s cold and we have strong winds up here, they have strong winds down there too.”
She elbowed Yan Tuo: “Are there a hundred pieces in each shell?”
Yan Tuo said: “About that.”
Yu Rong clicked her tongue: “A hundred times a hundred, that means we’ve sent ten thousand pieces down there today. Seventy thousand in seven days – tsk, think of all the garbage we’re creating down there.”
Que Cha: “Paper is biodegradable, so it’s not garbage.”
Yu Rong snorted: “How is it not garbage? Visual pollution is still pollution. I get annoyed just seeing all these paper pieces flying around.”
The group set up tents on site, too lazy to build a stove for fire. Dinner was solved with self-heating rice boxes.
After dinner, Nie Jiuluo pulled Yan Tuo to the stream’s edge, first ordering him to stand one step away from the bank and not move, then tightly gripping his hand while carefully peering over herself.
Yan Tuo secretly held back his laughter – Nie Jiuluo’s fear of water remained unchanged even after being reborn. Even the great attraction of the underwater stone cave couldn’t change it one bit.
Nie Jiuluo looked again and again, feeling this water flow had nothing special about it: “Following this stream down, there’s a stone cave?”
Yan Tuo said: “What else? You think I made it up?”
Nie Jiuluo felt frustrated: of all the stone caves in the world she could visit, why did the one she most wanted to see have to be underwater?
“Is there a white snake? That big – what does it eat?”
Yan Tuo couldn’t answer: “The river is so long, maybe it connects to the Yellow River’s mouth. If it’s hungry, how could it not find food?”
“In the end, was it the one that pushed us out?”
Yan Tuo shook his head: “I don’t know, I was unconscious by then. But probably.”
Probably – Yu Rong had said that at the time, surging waves had gushed from the cave mouth, with water spray shooting several meters high at an angle. Theoretically, there must have been a huge propelling force from inside.
He thought it was either the white snake’s assistance or perhaps an earthquake underground that collapsed the entire stone cave.
Just as he was thinking, Que Cha called from over there: “Come over, come over, let’s play cards!”
…
Waiting underground was truly boring. With no phone signal and rapidly draining batteries, the entertainment tools they brought were quite primitive: flight chess, Uno cards, playing cards, and such.
Several people played cards under a flashlight, and after a few rounds, everyone had paper stuck to their foreheads. Nie Jiuluo glanced around, finding it surreal: just months ago, they had been fighting for their lives here, and now they were playing cards.
This distraction brought her back to an old topic: “Where do you think the seventh exit is?”
Que Cha shook her head: “Don’t know. I used to guess this stream was the seventh exit, but Yu Rong said it wasn’t.”
Yu Rong carefully arranged her cards, not looking up: “Who was it that said – was it Xing Shen or Feng Mi – didn’t they say some of the Kua Fu tribe stayed by the stream to pan for Nu Wa’s flesh, while others went up to work on the exit? Just because they were far from the Black and White Stream, their bodies couldn’t take it, and they died generation after generation. The stream is just the edge of the Black and White Stream – how could that be considered far away?”
Nie Jiuluo had a sudden thought: “Could it be that the seventh exit hasn’t been discovered yet?”
The more she thought about it, the more possible it seemed: “Seven exits in total, four sealed by Jin Ren Gate. Let’s assume the fifth is the great swamp in Xingba Village, dating to the late Qing dynasty. The sixth is Yan Tuo’s father’s mine shaft, where Lin Xiru entered the world in the early 1990s. Then maybe the seventh hasn’t been discovered yet.”
Yu Rong responded absently: “Well, anyway, with Pei Ke sealing everything below, no more ground owls will come up, so this seventh exit won’t be discovered in the future either.”
Yan Tuo pondered for a while: “Actually, there’s another possibility. The worst possibility.”
These words carried an ominous tone, and all three looked at him simultaneously.
Yan Tuo said: “The seventh exit opened long ago. Someone, like Lin Xiru, has already taken root in the human world.”
Yu Rong’s heart jumped: “That’s impossible, right? They don’t have a Nu Wa statue.”
Yan Tuo questioned her: “Are you sure? Think carefully – the number of Nu Wa statues doesn’t add up. They say there were seven, the White-Eyed Ghosts took four, and Lin Xiru has one, so there should be two left. Even counting the one with the young wife in Xingba Village, there’s still at least one completely unaccounted for.”
The seventh exit, and the seventh statue – both remained mysteries.
Que Cha froze for a good while, then suddenly shuddered: “You mean there’s another group of ground owls, mixed among humans, still undiscovered?”
Yan Tuo smiled: “It’s just speculation. Didn’t I say? This is the worst possibility. Just think of it as… me being needlessly worried.”
Is there another Lin Xiru in this world?
Could there be someone like his former self, their whole family being sucked dry of blood and marrow, yet forever unable to break free?
Yan Tuo hoped such a possibility would never come to pass.