Yi Sa studied drawing for a long while before finally giving up due to Jiang Shehu’s artistic skills. The genealogy compiler didn’t seem to find it strange either, making a casual note—

“Presumably some demon or ghost.”

Ancient people had seen their share of oddities. In legends, evil spirits could have long tongues, bloody mouths large enough to swallow a basin, or heads that could be tucked under their arms—so one with an open skull wasn’t particularly strange.

Zong Hang also leaned in to look: “Is it an alien?”

Aliens were truly the universal explanation—any supernatural phenomenon could be logically attributed to them. Yi Sa gave him a side-eye: “Is that all you can think of?”

Zong Hang objected: “Who says so? I’ve thought of many things.”

“Like what?”

“Like brain surgery—this person is undergoing brain surgery.”

Yi Sa pondered for a moment, finding it interesting: “What else?”

“There are also robots, like the ones at tech exhibitions,” Zong Hang gestured to show her. “Modern robots are made to look human-like, covered in synthetic skin, but inside they’re full of precision machinery. The half-finished demonstrations let you see what’s inside their heads…”

Something stirred in Yi Sa’s mind, and she held up the page to look again.

She hadn’t noticed before, but once pointed out, it looked increasingly similar.

These seemingly random, inaccurate sketches might represent mechanical components that people from Jiang Shehu’s era couldn’t comprehend.

Going down into the Drifting Cave in ’96 was an experience she’d rather forget, to the point that when Ding Panling mentioned organizing another team to go, her first thought was to avoid repeating that disaster.

But Jiang Shehu went down and came back perfectly fine, because…

Yi Sa frowned, wracking her brain to grasp at every possibility.

—The numbers were too few; just Jiang Shehu alone. Opening the “box” for one person would be highly inefficient.

—The timing was wrong too; the late Ming Dynasty was far from the era of “flying without wings, facing without faces.”

The Gold Pool Cave at the bottom of Poyang Lake had a “door”—Jiang Jun had to repeatedly push water to “input” the password before entering.

Similarly, the Drifting Cave must also have a door. Jiang Shehu climbed down several dozen zhang, perhaps reaching the “doorway,” then there was a flash of white light, he lost consciousness, and was sent back to the surface.

In other words, the cave rejected him, refusing to open its door.

Yi Sa felt the key might lie in that flash of white light.

Like a security scanner at a venue entrance—scan fails, entry denied.

What was it scanning? Jiang Shehu lost consciousness immediately upon being scanned. Could it have been scanning… his brain?

By afternoon, the vehicles entered Ji County, where Hukou was located.

Hukou’s geographical location was tricky. In this section, the Yellow River formed the boundary between Shanxi and Shaanxi provinces, so the scenic area was split between them.

Viewing Hukou from Shanxi meant entering through Ji County, with the advantage of closer views. From Shaanxi, you entered through Yan’an, where the perspective was more majestic—aerial photos showed impressive grandeur. With Yan’an’s richer tourist resources nearby, most visitors preferred the Yan’an route.

But the Three Families weren’t here for sightseeing.

Entering Ji County, the vehicles headed straight for the scenic area, supposedly to scout the water conditions for the next few days.

The water flow was substantial. Even from a distance, Yi Sa could already hear the thunderous roar of water—the saying “hundred-zhang drums at Yellow River’s edge” was no exaggeration. Zong Hang, who had never been here before, couldn’t sit still in the car and jumped out as soon as it stopped.

The sound outside was different from inside the car—the thunderous echoes filled the sky, and even the ground seemed to tremble slightly.

Zong Hang rushed to read the scenic area’s introduction.

It explained the waterfall’s formation.

When the Yellow River reached the Jin-Shan plateau, it was like an unbridled wild horse, with its width expanding to over a thousand meters. But at Ji County, it encountered a great ravine only twenty to thirty meters wide, though forty to fifty meters deep.

Imagine such a wide river suddenly narrowing, with a drop of several dozen meters—such a massive volume of water roaring and cascading down, how could the sight not be awe-inspiring?

No wonder there was a saying “A thousand li of Yellow River gathered in one pot,” comparing this place to a pot’s belly. But that wasn’t all—the cascading water before it could catch its breath, immediately rushed into a narrow channel dozens of li long, called the Dragon Trough.

With its heaven-reaching and earth-penetrating power, how could it be content being confined in such a narrow pot and tight trough? Naturally, it churned and leaped, its roars thundering day and night, also known as “thunder on dry land.”

At the bottom was listed some mythology. Zong Hang bent down to look and his heart skipped a beat.

He saw the name “Yu the Great.”

According to legend, when the Yellow River was causing widespread havoc, Yu the Great surveyed the terrain and found the Longmen Gorge in the Jin-Shan Canyon suitable. He wanted to contain the Yellow River there, but halfway through, a huge rock blocked the way. In anger, Yu cleaved a gap in the rock—this gap became Hukou.

Another connection to Yu the Great?

While he was pondering this, Yi Sa called from nearby: “Are you here to play tourist? Want me to take your picture?”

Zong Hang bounced back over.

People from all the vehicles had gathered in one spot, looking like a small tour group. Local Ding family members had already come to welcome them, led by a round-faced young man holding pre-purchased tickets and carrying about ten disposable raincoats on his arm, chattering non-stop to Ding Changsheng.

—Summer wasn’t usually the peak season for Hukou’s water volume, but this year was unusual. Several recent downpours had suddenly increased the flow, making the waterfall look like billowing smoke… you’ll see;

—Ding Yudie was already inside, waiting to meet up with everyone;

—They’d gotten the Yellow River carp, the sheepskin rafts were en route and would arrive tonight, and the singer had arrived and was resting at the hotel.

…

Singer? For locking a Gold Pool, they needed a singer—was this going to be a song and dance? Zong Hang was confused, but Yi Sa knew it referred to the evening’s Gold Pool ceremony—the Three Families had different rituals, and on the Yellow River, they used the Umbrella Shadow Songs.

The group first went to view the waterfall.

Even from a distance, Zong Hang was dumbfounded.

All he could see was murky yellow water, like a massive boiling pot. Not an inch of the surface was calm. To call it water wasn’t quite right—it was more like mud, living, maddened muddy soup, crashing and rushing, taking on demon-like forms. Not just at “Hukou,” but countless waterfalls hung from both sides of the Dragon Trough. After a few seconds, his ears were filled with the rumbling water sound, making it impossible to hear people speaking.

Yellow smoke rolled in the air—spray and mist from the churning waters. On such a surface, forget about boats—even a piece of paper would be instantly swallowed, never to resurface.

Those standing close held umbrellas or wore raincoats, but still couldn’t avoid being splattered with mud spots. The round-faced young Ding family member came to give Zong Hang a raincoat. Seeing that Yi Sa wasn’t taking one, Zong Hang was about to wave it off when he saw someone in a raincoat walking toward them.

It was Ding Yudie, his raincoat dripping with rivulets of muddy water, his head wrapped in a local-style white lamb’s stomach cloth that had been splattered to the color of a dishrag.

He shouted something, but seeing they couldn’t hear clearly, he kept waving: “Over here, over here, come over to talk!”

He led them uphill, walking quite a distance before stopping.

Finally, far enough from the noise of water and voices, Ding Yudie pointed to where the water churned most violently at the Dragon Trough’s mouth: “Right there, see? I just saw Ding Panling comparing locations with the Gold Pool manual. Tonight, we’ll go down right there.”

Yi Sa was surprised: “Won’t we just get swept away as soon as we go in?”

This was no joke—this was even worse than Laoyemiao. At least there you could enter the water and dive steadily. Here, the rolling waves would sweep you away before you could even sink.

Ding Yudie wasn’t worried. He took off his white lamb’s stomach cloth, and countless static-charged loose hairs seemed to quiver with excitement: “Each family has its skills. If Uncle Panling says it’s fine, what are you afraid of? Think we’ll drown?”

Then he gave Zong Hang a sideways look: “What’s he here for? An outsider following us around for everything—what, trying to marry in?”

Zong Hang stayed silent.

What did he mean by “an outsider”? He was today’s main character, thank you very much. And what business was it of his about marrying in?

Not like he’d be marrying into your family anyway.

Like opening a Gold Pool, water ghosts locking a Gold Pool also needed to conserve energy. This Gold Pool locking operation wasn’t large scale—Ding Panling wouldn’t participate, only the younger generation would go in: Ding Yudie would lead, Yi Sa would assist, and Zong Hang was the “observer.”

After checking the waterfall conditions, the three were taken to rest in cars at the parking lot. Someone brought “water meals”—even simpler than at Poyang Lake: raw sliced Yellow River carp meat and a cup of boiled Yellow River water. Through the glass, you could see thick sediment settled at the bottom.

Ding Yudie ate with grave ceremony, while Yi Sa played tricks again, finding a plastic bag and, with Zong Hang’s cover, dumping the water meal.

They waited until nightfall before being led back into the scenic area.

This time felt different—no human voices, no lights, pitch black everywhere, like returning to ancient times. Between heaven and earth, there was only rock and river.

By the waterfall, two yellow outdoor floodlights were set up, illuminating about a dozen shifting shadows. Several shadows were stretched extremely long and large by the lights, spanning across the river surface, looking both absurd and unreal.

Drawing closer, they first saw an old man sitting on a stool with his eyes closed, his face wrinkled, his hair, eyebrows, and the mustache and beard on his upper lip and chin all white.

He wore all white too—loose-fitting long-sleeved clothes with Chinese frog buttons and lantern pants. By his feet stood an exquisitely crafted red oil-paper umbrella—the floodlight’s glow gave the umbrella surface a lustrous oily red sheen.

Yi Sa explained quietly to Zong Hang: “An elder from the Ding family, who sings the Shadow Songs.”

Such people were said to be trained from childhood, rarely speaking, and when they did, it was in the softest whisper. How soft? If you placed a lit candle by their mouth, they could finish speaking without the flame flickering even once.

They devoted their life’s energy to singing Shadow Songs, though to say they sang extremely loud and clear wouldn’t be quite right—Yi Sa wasn’t very clear about the intricacies.

Not far from the old man was a table, on which stood something emitting a dim green light. Several people standing around the table were kneading something in their hands and blowing into it.

Were they… blowing up balloons?

Zong Hang watched for a while before realizing that the glowing object was a large-bellied glass bottle with breathing holes, filled with fireflies. The bottle was covered with green leaves, which gave its light that dim green color. After blowing up the balloons, they didn’t immediately tie them off, but instead opened the bottle lid and casually scooped up handfuls of fireflies to put inside.

Several people working together were highly efficient. The balloons were inflated one after another and then filled with light. Soon, countless glowing spheres rolled around the table, under it, and at their feet.

Zong Hang didn’t know these balloons were actually treated sheep bladders, and worried briefly about the fireflies, fearing they would suffocate soon.

Murmuring voices came from the darkness.

Looking toward the sound, he noticed there was a railing along the edge of the Dragon Trough to prevent tourists from falling in. Ding Panling had led several people inside the railing and was securing a post, with a thumb-thick steel cable wound around its top, swaying in the dim light. Following the cable’s path, there was another post on the opposite side with the cable’s other end wrapped around it—like a power line strung above the rushing water.

Seeing Yi Sa’s group approach, Ding Panling let out a breath and pointed to the cable: “In a moment, we’ll first use fireflies to ‘fix the water eye,’ once that’s done, we’ll ‘establish the water raft.’ When the raft is set up, the ‘Shadow Song will open the way.’ Once the path is open, you can go down.”