Realizing it was Xirang (breathing soil) didn’t bring any excitement or sense of achievement. Instead, it made the situation seem even more hopeless.
This probably wasn’t a natural cave, but rather one where someone was imprisoned, and then the Xirang had seamlessly sealed the entrance: the hole they’d managed to blast open was sealed by “juvenile Xirang,” which was even harder than before. Another explosion attempt would likely be futile, and moreover—
Yi Sa looked at the scattered clams on the ground and sighed: “This is why you shouldn’t be too extreme. When you cut off someone else’s path, you cut off your own too. We went too hard just now, otherwise we could have tried again…”
Now with the clam group scattered like this, it was impossible to even attempt making another small “clam bomb.”
Feeling increasingly dejected, Yi Sa slumped to the ground, laid down, and curled up.
Without any sense of time, she couldn’t tell how long they’d been in this cave, but her clothes were dry now, so at least a day and night must have passed. She was tired, thirsty, and worst of all, hungry.
Zong Hang tried to encourage her: “Yi Sa, where there’s a will, there’s a way. Let’s think of another solution.”
Yi Sa couldn’t be bothered to snap at him. Better to conserve energy instead—when there’s no water or food, staying still, keeping quiet, and sleeping helps preserve energy and allows you to last longer. Like thousand-year tortoises and ten-thousand-year turtles—why do they live so long? It proves that while exercise builds the body, stillness extends life.
Zong Hang sat beside her for a while, then got up, patting his bottom: “I’ll go look around.”
Yi Sa kept her eyes closed, ignoring him, but from the sounds, his footsteps stayed close by, taking a few steps away before returning, and then repeating the pattern.
Opening her eyes, she saw Zong Hang picking up the remaining clams nearby. What was he doing? Still not giving up on making another “clam bomb”?
Watching him for a moment, something suddenly struck her.
He carefully picked up one clam in each hand, walked away to put them down, then came back for more, repeating this until he’d cleared away all the stragglers from around her, before finally dusting off his hands and walking away.
He must have been worried that if she kept lying there motionless, the clams might crawl over and bite her.
Yi Sa closed her eyes again, feeling a warmth in her heart.
What a kid.
She had never thought much of Zong Hang, not because of his young age, but because of an inherent prejudice: people like her who had tasted hardship from childhood and struggled their way up through intelligence and ability typically looked down on those who grew up protected by parents with silver spoons in their mouths. She felt such people were just lucky, and when real trouble came, they’d die eight hundred times over, purely dead weight.
Because she looked down on them, she never associated with them, and besides, her circles rarely intersected with such people.
Zong Hang was purely accidental. She thought they would pass like ships in the night, never to meet again, yet he appeared again looking disheveled, getting tangled up with her several times. At this rate, he wouldn’t be going away anytime soon.
But interacting with him was fresh and unexpected, quite contrary to her previous impressions…
The sound of footsteps returned—Zong Hang had lost his slippers in the lake and was walking barefoot.
He had come back again, calling out excitedly: “Yi Sa.”
Yi Sa lifted her eyelids to look at him.
He crouched down in front of her, his eyes gleaming with excitement: “I just went to the clam nest area and suddenly thought of something.”
“Those thousands and thousands of clams, where did they come from? The mud in the mudflat is so soft, and much easier to dig through than the stone walls. If I could dig through all that mud, wouldn’t we maybe find an exit?”
Yi Sa said: “Sure if you could dig long enough, you might even dig to the other side of the Earth.”
Zong Hang wasn’t discouraged at all: “Well, I’ll give it a try. You rest since you’re tired, and I’ll call you if I find anything.”
With that, he walked away enthusiastically.
Yi Sa lay on the ground.
The ground was rocky, similar to the stone walls, but that large mudflat was indeed different, and there might be a way out—but honestly, this was like the tip of an iceberg. The part of an iceberg that shows above water might only be less than a tenth of its total volume. The mudflat visible on the surface was already as big as a small room, so how big must it be underneath? Without tools, food, or water, how much mud could one scoop out with bare hands?
She closed her eyes again, wanting to rest.
But unable to sleep, she got up after a while and walked into the cave.
That fool Zong Hang was digging.
He had already dug about half a person deep, using just his hands. Black silt was piled at the edges, with some lazy clams that hadn’t left their nests mixed in. As for himself, his legs had become literally “mud legs,” and when tired, he would wipe his forehead with his hand, leaving his face streaked black and white.
Yi Sa suddenly thought of something: “Is your hand better? Should you be digging like this?”
Zong Hang said: “It’s not completely healed… but after being in all that water, it’s much better than before. I can use some strength.”
Yi Sa watched from the side. The mudflat got wetter the deeper he dug, and Zong Hang seemed to be standing in mud slurry.
After working a while longer, he felt dizzy and wanted to climb up to rest. Yi Sa reached out to pull him up, but seeing the mud on his hands, he shook his head and climbed up by himself.
Once up, he seemed to deflate, sitting on the ground hugging his knees, motionless.
He probably realized that digging through the clam nest was hopeless. Water dripping through stone isn’t impossible, but it needs enough time—what if this clam nest was hundreds or thousands of meters deep? How long would it take to dig through with these half-injured hands?
Yi Sa sat down beside him: “It’s okay.”
“Sometimes, things work opposite to what you think. What everyone thinks is an exit often isn’t; what nobody thinks is an exit might be the breakthrough.”
Zong Hang turned to look at her: “Where can we break through?”
Yi Sa shrugged: “Don’t know. Anyway, if heaven wants me dead, let it be. If it doesn’t, it will give us hints…”
She raised her right hand, rubbing her thumb against her middle and index fingers as if creating a spark: “Like this, a flash in the mind.”
For the first time, Zong Hang felt that Yi Sa was somewhat passive, seeming quite fatalistic.
Yi Sa bent down to untie her shoelaces. She was used to wearing shoes in water, but they were hard to dry and felt stuffy.
With her feet exposed, they were indeed a bit pale and wrinkled. Yi Sa massaged them for a while, then pounded her legs.
Zong Hang’s gaze fell on her ankle: “Yi Sa, why would you get such a tattoo? ‘Go die’ with every step, that’s so unlucky.”
If it were him, he would have tattooed something auspicious like wealth, fortune, or longevity.
Yi Sa looked down: “You’re wrong about that. Everyone, from the moment they’re born, is taking steps toward death, with no exceptions. The only difference is when they stop—my ‘go die’ with every step is normal, it would be terrible if I stopped.”
Her fingertips traced the tattoo: “Maybe this is where I’ll stop this time.”
Zong Hang said: “No, that won’t happen…”
He wanted to punch his brain.
Why couldn’t he be smarter?
What had Yi Sa just said?
—Things work opposite to what you think. What everyone thinks is an exit often isn’t; what nobody thinks is an exit might be a breakthrough.
In this situation, probably eight out of ten people would guess the clam nest was the exit because it wasn’t a stone wall, it was soft and easy to dig…
So thinking oppositely, what did nobody consider an exit?
The stone walls, the Xirang.
What were the characteristics of Xirang?
In legend, Yu the Great used it to control floods. When floods raged, the Xirang kept growing, blocking the water…
And in reality, the Xirang was hidden at the bottom of the great lake, rolling and twisting…
Yi Sa turned her head to look at Zong Hang.
When he was deep in thought, his face scrunched up like a bitter gourd, with a small bump forming between his brows, quite adorable—top students generally remained expressionless, calm, and collected, solving difficult problems with ease; Zong Hang’s type was “when the brain can’t turn, mobilize all facial features to create momentum,” only to end up helpless…
Zong Hang suddenly muttered something.
Yi Sa’s mind jolted, and she blurted out: “What did you just say? Just now, the last sentence, say it again.”
Zong Hang was stunned for a moment, he had just been muttering to himself.
He tried to recall: “I was saying, what would Xirang be afraid of? One thing subdues another, like how mice eat elephants…”
That’s it, mice eating elephants.
She had played that animal chess game as a child too, vaguely remembering it had an elephant, lion, tiger, leopard, wolf, dog, cat, and mouse. The bigger ones ate the smaller ones, but the circle completed itself—mice could eat elephants.
Many things in this world could form circles.
Yi Sa murmured: “The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Water fears Xirang, so what does Xirang fear…”
Unable to reason forward, she reversed the logic: “Water fears Xirang, so what fears water?”
Zong Hang answered: “Fire, of course. Water and fire don’t mix.”
They stared at each other blankly.
Zong Hang slowly realized, his heart pounding wildly, stuttering: “Yi Sa, could Xirang be… be afraid of fire?”
Yi Sa’s heart was racing too.
It was hard to say.
In legends, Xirang only ever appeared alongside water, no one ever mentioned “fire.”
Xirang hid at the bottom of great lakes, even when churning violently, it stayed in water—was water a natural fire barrier?
Who would bring fire underwater?
In modern times, underwater explorers only bring lights for illumination, who would light fires?
Zong Hang suddenly got excited: “Yi Sa, we could, um, lighter, matches, make fire, no… friction fire with wood, that…”
His elation faded as quickly as it came, ending in near despair: they had nothing, no tools at all! Wood? They didn’t even have a single stick.
He suddenly thought of something and hurriedly lifted the gauze on his hand: “I remember you used popsicle sticks and cotton swabs as splints for me, could we use those for friction?”
No, he knew it wouldn’t work—the thin sticks were all soaked, useless for friction.
Just as he was feeling dejected, Yi Sa suddenly held up the Wu Gui dagger by its tip, dangling it in front of him.
Zong Hang was confused.
What was this for?
Yi Sa said: “Bad at studying, aren’t you? You only know about friction fire, but have you heard of another method called flint and steel?”
Flint and steel fire-starting, in simple terms, uses hard stone as “firestone,” striking it with a knife or steel to create sparks that fall onto tinder to start a fire.
The Wu Gui dagger was made of high-carbon steel, with one sharp edge and one serrated edge—the serrated side perfect for striking.
Yi Sa was taking apart her pants and T-shirt. Fortunately, she wore long pants, and they were completely dry, with her T-shirt being cotton—she dismantled them carefully, pulling thread by thread, tearing the T-shirt cotton for tinder, shortening both pant legs, and using the threads for kindling.
Zong Hang went around collecting stones. Not all stones could serve as flint, but the harder ones with sharp edges when broken had higher success rates.
Once prepared, they went to the newly formed stone wall: with limited fuel, they couldn’t waste time, and they weren’t sure which other walls were real stone or Xirang—this one was the safest bet.
Yi Sa chose a suitable stone from Zong Hang’s collection, and placed tinder underneath, while Zong Hang held the large bundle of threads from her pant legs nearby, with tinder mixed into the top—he was under pressure too, needing to blow on the sparks when they fell.
Fire-starting was truly an art. Yi Sa’s first few attempts produced no sparks. She took a breath, changed angles, increased force, and finally sparked flew.
Zong Hang’s hands trembled. Following her instructions, he pushed the cotton threads together when sparks fell, then gently blew—the process was torture, sometimes seeing only white smoke with no flame—when he finally saw the fairy-like flame, his nose was sweating.
Yi Sa was tense too: “Quick, quick!”
Zong Hang brought the burning bundle to the stone wall.
The wall, like oily skin, began to cave inward. Though it was working, Zong Hang was nearly sweating with tension. He urgently gripped the lower half of the bundle tighter, making it burn longer.
The tunnel wasn’t large, barely enough to crawl through. Both held their breath, following the fire bundle inside. Within seconds, Zong Hang figured out the pattern: wherever the fire bundle went, the Xirang retreated, creating space. He tried moving the bundle in larger circles, and the space indeed grew larger.
But they soon discovered a problem—where they had crawled past, once the fire bundle moved away, the Xirang grew back.
The initial entrance had been sealed shut. Zong Hang’s face changed color—they were completely inside the stone wall now, like a moving cell. The fire bundle grew smaller and smaller with no exit in sight. What if… what if the fire went out and the Xirang closed in? Wouldn’t they be like being sealed alive in cement? Amber? Living fossils?
Yi Sa’s voice changed, shouting at him: “Hurry, crawl, don’t waste time!”
Then came the sound of tearing clothes, quickly passing him cloth strips.
The cloth strips weren’t working either, the fire almost burning his hand. In the final surge of flame, a bowl-sized opening of light suddenly appeared.
They’d made it!
But the flame died!
Seeing the opening shrinking, Zong Hang panicked, found strength from somewhere, shouted, and rammed his head through.
A cracking sound came as the not-yet-solid wall broke open again. Zong Hang had barely moved when he realized one foot was “caught.” Without thinking, he grabbed Yi Sa’s waist and pushed her out. Yi Sa turned back to grab his shoulders, but couldn’t pull him free. Zong Hang screamed in terror: “I can’t move!”
Almost simultaneously, his calves, thighs, waist, abdomen…
All sealed in.
Zong Hang turned ashen, thinking he was done for.
After a while, he realized the tight sealing only reached his shoulders.
He moved his head, then strained to look up.
Damn, he was like Sun Wukong trapped under the Five-Finger Mountain—how was only his head sticking out?
Yi Sa stared at him blankly, then after a while, perhaps finding his head-twisting comical, suddenly burst out laughing.
Zong Hang felt annoyed, angry, and anxious, pressing his head to the ground, nearly crying.
Yi Sa consoled him: “It’s okay, I know this thing fears fire. I’ll find a way to get you out, soon…”
She suddenly stopped.
Then she stood up, looking around.
This was an enormous cave.
She stood on a massive protruding rock high up, shaped like an outstretched tongue.
Below, layer upon layer, pile upon pile, were ship wreckages, hundreds or thousands by estimate. Some with bows lifted, others with sterns stuck in other ships’ decks, small boats hanging upside down on large ships’ masts.
All around was silent, completely dead.
This was a ship graveyard.
(End of Volume Two)