“Don’t say nonsense. The Bronze Coffin tipped over and the lid never settled properly — that sound just now was definitely a shift in position.” Lin Jia said this calmly, steadying the emotions of everyone present.
All nine of the massive Dragon Corpses stretched a hundred meters in length, their scales dense and glistening with a dark luster, lying not far away. The Ancient Bronze Coffin, a full twenty meters long, was pressed on top of the Five-Colored Altar, filling everyone with a deep, unsettled unease.
“I think we should all go together to explore that light source ahead.”
“I also think everyone should move as one group.”
Many voiced the same suggestion — it was plainly evident that fear had taken hold, and nearly no one was willing to remain at this spot any longer. In the end, everyone unanimously agreed to move forward together to investigate the light source.
The land in every direction was composed entirely of reddish-brown soil and gravel — open and bare, with only the occasional large boulder as sparse decoration.
As they passed the boulder they had climbed earlier to look out over the distance, Liu Yinzhi let out a surprised sound. “There are characters carved on that boulder.”
Rounding to the side of the boulder facing the light source, two enormous ancient characters were clearly visible carved into the rock face, each one standing five to six meters tall — forceful, sweeping strokes, powerful and vigorous, grand and overwhelming, as though two furious dragons had coiled themselves into written form.
Far more complex than modern script, they had clearly been carved in some ancient era long past — no one could say how many ages they had been standing there. Everyone gathered before the rock face and fixed their eyes on the two powerful ancient characters. Many furrowed their brows, struggling to make out the meaning.
“This appears to be inscribed bronze script. The first character should be ‘Ying’.” Zhou Yi identified the first character, furrowing his brow as he murmured to himself, “What on earth kind of place have we come to…”
“It is indeed bronze inscription script. These two characters read ‘Huohuo.'” Ye Fan recognized both characters and said them aloud without hesitation. He appeared calm on the outside, but the meaning those two characters carried sent a shock wave through his heart.
Huohuo — how could it be Huohuo? He almost couldn’t believe any of this, and couldn’t help tilting his head up toward the sky. The sky was dim, and only a handful of stars had yet appeared.
“Huohuo — what does that mean?”
“Is Huohuo a place?”
Many people were confused, unclear on what the two characters meant.
Zhou Yi, upon hearing the word “Huohuo,” was as inwardly shaken as Ye Fan. His face went somewhat pale. “Glimmering flames of fire, scattered and bewildering. We truly… have no way to go back.”
“What do you mean? Where are we?” The crowd grew agitated and uneasy.
Wang Ziwen, upon hearing the word “Huohuo,” understood its meaning as well and explained for everyone: “We may no longer be on Earth. ‘Glimmering like fire’ — the ancients called it Huohuo, an omen of ill fortune. In antiquity, the planet Mars was called Huohuo.”
Countless ages ago, the ancient people had long since noticed that Mars appeared red, its brightness constantly changing — glimmering and fire-like. Moreover, its motion across the sky was complex and confusing, sometimes moving east to west, sometimes west to east. “Glimmering flames of fire, scattered and bewildering” — in ancient times it was called Huohuo.
Ancient emperors were superstitious and dreaded this calamitous star, believing it foretold misfortune — that whenever it appeared, either the Prime Minister would be stripped of his post or the Emperor would die. Later generations naturally put no stock in such superstitions.
“Oh my God!” Kai De, standing beside Li Xiaoman, worked out the meaning of the two Chinese characters with great mental effort. He then grabbed up handfuls of the reddish-brown soil and tapped at the rocks, repeatedly studying the geology, letting out one startled exclamation after another.
“How can this be?” Many stood slack-jawed, utterly unable to accept the reality before them.
“The reddish-brown land beneath our feet is… Mars. We’re no longer on Earth?!” Anyone who heard this result would be left standing in a daze — none of it made any rational sense.
Half an hour ago they had been on the summit of Mount Tai. Half an hour later they were standing on the ancient star known as Huohuo. It was simply beyond all reason.
Lin Jia’s tall, graceful figure stood still, her beautiful face having gone rather pale. Her phoenix eyes swept over the crowd and she said, “For now, all we’ve seen is this stone inscription. We can’t truly confirm whether we are actually on the Huohuo star.”
“But according to what’s known, the dry surface of Mars is covered everywhere with red soil and gravel — isn’t that exactly what we see in front of us?” one of the female students said, her voice on the verge of tears.
Humanity had been launching space probes to explore Mars since the 1960s. The Mars Pathfinder had successfully landed on the Martian surface back in 1997.
After decades of exploration, humanity’s knowledge of Mars was no longer a blank slate — a vast wealth of valuable data had been gathered.
“Mars soil contains an enormous amount of iron oxide. Due to prolonged exposure to ultraviolet radiation, the entire planet Mars looks like a world that has rusted over — exactly the same as the landscape in front of our eyes. Can it really be… that we’ve left Earth, and are now standing on another planet?!” One of the male students clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles had already gone pale.
“If we were truly standing on Mars, I don’t think we could survive — there isn’t enough oxygen, the temperature wouldn’t be right…” Li Xiaoman said this despite the pallor of her face, and her words still managed to kindle a faint thread of hope in more than a few people.
Throughout all of this, Ye Fan, Pang Bo, and a few others remained consistently calm. They were certain they were no longer on Earth — could things get any worse than that? Whatever happened next, it could only be more of the same.
The group lingered for a long while before that great boulder, then finally departed, continuing onward toward the faint light source in the distance. It looked not very far off, but after walking over five hundred meters they had still not reached it — it appeared there was an equal distance still to go.
Everyone was weighed down by their thoughts, few speaking, the mood heavy. They feared that even that last remaining sliver of hope might be extinguished.
Thud!
Pang Bo kicked a small stone fragment from under his feet, sending up a puff of dust. At that moment his expression shifted in surprise — he noticed that the kicked stone appeared to be a piece of roof tile.
“It really is a tile!” When he picked up the half-broken fragment, he confirmed it immediately — this was a rough, man-made clay tile.
In an instant, a crowd gathered around him to examine the tile fragment, many of them showing signs of excitement.
“If there are tiles, there must be buildings. This land is inhabited — there’s more here than just a Five-Colored Altar.”
“We’re saved!”
“We can definitely get out of this!”
The feeling of despair lessened slightly; a mood of joy crept in. The group saw hope for survival.
By now, the sky had grown dark. Stars filled the sky above.
Ye Fan looked up at the night sky and noticed a blurry disk hanging at the horizon, about half the size of the moon as seen from Earth — sufficient proof that this was not Earth. And in another direction, there was a bright star the size of a fist — far brighter than ordinary stars, yet dimmer than that small moon-like disk. To call it a star seemed too bright; to call it a moon seemed too small and too faint.
Zhou Yi, Wang Ziwen, and Liu Yinzhi stood not far away. They noticed Ye Fan’s gesture and looked up at the sky as well. When they saw two small moon-like discs hanging at the horizon, their expressions changed at once.