We charged into the rat's den, raising the kerosene lamp to illuminate the surroundings—walls entirely composed of ancient bricks, massive ones shaped like flagstones. The ceiling overhead was also gathered into an arc by these old bricks. However, the construction of these ancient brick tunnels was extremely crude; many sections had collapsed due to age and disrepair, compounded by the burrowing of wild rats and the invasive growth of tree roots. This short stretch of tunnel alone was riddled with holes, utterly unrecognizable. Amidst the chaos and darkness, we couldn't clearly discern the nature of this place.

Deep within the stone ceiling, tree roots and soil harbored countless wriggling worms and clusters of white eggs. It was clear the rats had built their "rat mountain" precisely to feast on these eggs. Centipedes, despite their potent venom and ferocity, are poor burrowers, and their larger bodies couldn't squeeze into the rat holes. But now, a massive breach had opened in the collapsed area where the swarms of rats had gathered, and centipedes of all sizes rushed in to devour the fleeing rodents.

To escape the menacing centipedes surging in from outside, we had no choice but to retreat step by step deeper into this mysterious tunnel. The most troublesome aspect was Old Sheepskin, whose belly was bloated and who was completely delirious. Fatty couldn't even carry him, so he and Ding Sitian had to grab his arms and drag him along, stumbling awkwardly. Furthermore, the only illumination we had was the dim, old kerosene lamp in my hand, which barely reached three or five paces ahead. We pushed forward tentatively, using our feet to kick aside the gathered wild rats on the ground. It was less like fleeing deeper into the tunnel and more like "shuffling" our way in.

After moving only a few steps, we heard another great commotion behind us among the rats. Likely, a centipede had already infiltrated the tunnel. I glanced around and saw that several ancient bricks in front of me were already loosened by the tree roots. A slight additional force would cause this section of the tunnel to collapse. With the situation as it was, we could only take a desperate gamble. If we were buried alive, so be it. I quickly urged Fatty and Ding Sitian to drag Old Sheepskin forward rapidly—the faster the better—ignoring the noise behind us. Then, I drew the "Kangxi Precious Saber" from its sheath and used the hilt to repeatedly pound and pry at the stone bricks overhead.

After prying loose just two stone bricks, the soil and rubble above immediately began to tumble down. I dared not linger and pulled myself out, just in time to hear a massive boom. The tunnel roof immediately caved in, crushing many of the large and small rats below. The centipedes were temporarily blocked. I wiped the sweat from my brow, turned around, and caught up with Fatty and the others, who had already moved some distance ahead.

Hearing the commotion behind him, Fatty asked if I had brought the tunnel roof down. I told him that our retreat route was now cut off, and we could only place our hope in finding another exit ahead. Facing this situation, all three of us were somewhat panicked. This tunnel was pitch black and endless; we didn't know if there was another exit. Although many big-eyed thieves were still lurking about, the holes those creatures could squeeze through, we certainly couldn't. If we were to be buried alive in this fetid, muddy rat's nest, dying this way would be too ignominious.

My grandfather used to make a living by reading geomancy and assessing land. He had known some artisans who specialized in tomb robbing. He once told me that tomb robbers engaged in activities that traversed the boundary between Yin and Yang, and none of them were faint of heart. Yet, they had things they feared deeply; being buried alive underground was the most dreaded fate for those who "toured the tomb."

However, among those who toured tombs, there were the "Mojin Xiaowei" (Gold-touching Captains), skilled in divination who could observe mountain forms and discern earth veins. Whether above or below ground, they could judge topography and ley lines. In the eyes of a "Mojin Xiaowei," the universe had grand conjunctions, and mountains and rivers possessed true spirit. They viewed mountains and rivers as living entities: "The body of the mountain is stone bones, the forests are its clothes, the grass is its fur, water is its blood vessels, clouds and mist are its spirit, and haze is its complexion." As long as one could grasp the pulse of the mountains, rivers, and waterways, they could surely find the "gate of life" even in desperation.

Of course, I didn't understand these profound arts of geomancy back then. I only vaguely remember my grandfather explaining something to that effect, and I couldn't help but envy the "Mojin Xiaowei." Fortune and disaster have no fixed doors in this world; fortune and misfortune are hard to discern. If a "Mojin Xiaowei" were here, could they tell us where this pitch-black underground tunnel leads? I even began to feel that this tunnel built of ancient bricks strongly resembled a tomb passage from tomb-robbing tales. Perhaps at its end, there would be a large coffin.

Lost in these thoughts, I took over from Ding Sitian, helping Fatty carry Old Sheepskin, while Ding Sitian shouldered the hunting rifle and held the lamp to light our way. The three of us moved forward slowly, groping in the dark. I casually mentioned my earlier thoughts to them. Ding Sitian asked in surprise, "When we were doing our big-character poster campaign, you also told us stories about geomancy and tomb robbing. Could your ancestor have been in that line of work?"

Before I could answer, Fatty chimed in, "Old Hu's grandfather was a big landlord, but after the revolutionary masses discovered him, he was condemned, criticized, and trampled under ten thousand feet. Hu was even branded the filial grandson of the landlord class—otherwise, why didn't he get to join the army? My situation is the complete opposite. My ancestors were all beggars, mud-legged people. Isn't being that poor glorious? But my old man still had unclear historical problems, seemingly some active issues too. To this day, I haven't figured out if he was a reactionary from the past or a current one. Consequently, I was also branded—a revisionist, a white-and-expert sapling. I couldn't join the army either. Isn't it obvious that I have a heart that shines brightly for Chairman Mao? Who did I offend?"

Fatty's speech touched a raw nerve among us all, and our expressions grew somber. I thought, what's the point of bringing up all this rotten stuff? It only makes one feel miserable. I quickly needed to change the subject. So, as we walked, I said to Fatty and Ding Sitian, "My grandfather did have a few mu of poor land, but he wasn't a big landlord, nor was he a tomb robber. He just knew some masters of tomb touring and had personally seen a 'Big Zombie.'" Worried they wouldn't understand the jargon, I explained that "touring the tomb" meant robbing graves, and a "zombie" was a corpse in a tomb. My grandfather used to say that while there are 360 trades in the world, each with its own master, the traditional Chinese professions that formed distinct, self-contained systems actually totaled seventy-two, each with its own heritage, origins, and founding patriarch—such as butchers, tailors, carpenters, tomb robbers, bandits, and so on. Do you know which of these is the most formidable? There’s a saying that captures it perfectly: 'Of the seventy-two trades, tomb robbing is king.' Because the skills, knowledge, courage, craftsmanship required for tomb robbing, as well as the rewards and risks involved, are completely incomparable to the other seventy-one. Moreover, the common consensus holds that 'In tomb touring and grave robbing, Mojin is supreme.' Therefore, the 'Mojin Xiaowei' is the true king among traditional Chinese professions."

Fatty pretended to understand, saying, "Oh, so you think we've walked into a tomb passage? I actually don't think tomb robbing is scary. Aren't ancient tombs just places where dead people are buried? Aren't those emperors, generals, scholars, and beauties from feudal society all [censored]?"

Ding Sitian added, "That's right. In ancient peasant uprisings, the first thing they often did was excavate imperial tombs. This also demonstrated the fearless spirit of the peasant rebel armies in scorning feudal monarchical power and their determination to stand in opposition to it." However, even though Ding Sitian said this, she was still a girl. Although she had been a Red Guard, she wasn't quite as reckless as Fatty and I, and she still harbored an almost insurmountable fear of ancient tombs. She asked me what kinds of things were typically found inside them.

I had felt nervous when I first entered this tunnel, but after walking for a while, I gradually adapted to the oppressive, dark environment and my courage returned. When Ding Sitian asked what was inside the tombs, I jokingly replied, "Maybe it’s like a palace, with lots of carvings and fountains and such." Suddenly remembering the ancient tomb black market I saw deep in the Daxing'anling Mountains, I embellished the description for them: "All those carvings are of ancient women. Not only are they attractively shaped, but they are all naked, without clothes—they are nude carvings, all made of marble. I saw them with my own eyes in the mountains."

Fatty and Ding Sitian knew nothing about such things and couldn't tell if what I said was true. They just stared wide-eyed, unable to respond. I continued, "We need to establish clear discipline now. If we really do enter an ancient tomb later, we can't act on impulse. Even if we are robbing the tomb, we are not allowed to damage cultural relics or historical sites. No shooting or wielding weapons against the nude carvings on the walls, especially you, Little Fatty. You are absolutely forbidden from randomly [censored] the marble carvings of nude palace maids in there. Those are all treasures left by the old 'zombies' for us proletariat."

I said this with such solemnity that Fatty was momentarily stunned speechless: "I swear to Chairman Mao I won't touch anything. Anyway, we just look, we don't touch. Whoever touches is a grandson... Wait, that’s not right. We are also proletariat, why can’t we touch?"

At this point, Ding Sitian interrupted and asked me, "Comrade Lenin, are you really sure this rat-infested hole is an ancient tomb?" I replied helplessly, "Actually, I don't know either. I was just trying to ease your tension by talking nonsense to reassure you. Seriously speaking, I think this place could be an ancient tomb, or it might not be. As for what this place really is, only heaven knows, and only the devil knows."

Fatty gnashed his teeth in frustration: "So everything you just said was nonsense, Old Hu? What do you mean it could be or it might not be?" As he spoke, we unknowingly reached the end of the tunnel. Here, there were no more ancient, weathered stone bricks, but a vaulted natural cavern. The cavern wasn't very large, maybe a hundred square meters. Surrounding this cavern were tunnels, one after another, identical in scale and structure to the one we entered from. Standing inside, we couldn't distinguish east from west.

Fatty and I carried Old Sheepskin for a long time; our arms were getting sore and numb. We realized there were many diverging paths all around us here and were momentarily at a loss as to which way to go. So we set him down first. Old Sheepskin muttered deliriously, seeming still to be thinking about his cattle and horses. This ordeal of dragging and carrying might have actually helped him digest his food.

Ding Sitian held up the lamp and said with worry, "This is truly an underground maze. Have we entered the very center of an underground maze? Why do all the tunnels lead here?"

I rubbed my aching shoulders and looked around. I didn't know what this place was. It certainly wasn't an ancient tomb, nor was it some underground maze. The tunnels surrounding the cavern were distributed radially. I counted them: ten in total, no more, no less. The more we looked, the stranger the layout of this cavern seemed. In the center of the cavern stood a natural screen of emerald-green stone, resembling a stone wall. Buried in the dirt around this screen were many huge stones, irregular in shape and size, scattered haphazardly—nothing meaningful could be discerned.

Fatty took one look and asked if these were marbles. "Didn't you say there were carved women made of stone? Why do they all look like potatoes?" I ignored Fatty's teasing remarks, puzzled internally: who would be bored enough to bury so many large stones in a mountain cave?

Just as I was marveling silently, Ding Sitian’s curiosity got the better of her. Carrying the kerosene lamp, she walked toward the smooth stone wall to examine it. She discovered that the natural emerald screen was etched with many patterns. It looked like a stele half-buried in the earth. She quickly beckoned Fatty and me to come closer and look.

The massive, smooth stone surface bore no writing, but both sides were carved with intricate patterns. Some areas were chipped and worn, and the original colors had faded almost entirely, though this didn't prevent us from clearly seeing the depicted figures. However, the content portrayed was so bizarre and incredible that after just a few glances, my breathing became heavy.

One side depicted rolling hills, with a dense forest in the central basin. Judging by the topographical features, it looked like the area where we were currently located, the "Hundred-Eye Cave." Around the hills, a black, dragon-shaped shadow was drawn, resembling a ferocious black dragon with bared fangs and claws, devouring the surrounding cattle, sheep, people, and livestock. Recalling the cattle and wild geese that had vanished into thin air, we knew the content of the stone carving was true. It was just that the ancient people who carved this picture, like us, probably only knew that people and livestock mysteriously disappeared nearby but could not decipher the secret, hence they stylized it as a dragon-shaped shadow roaming the sky.

We saw the flock of geese flying into the clouds on the grassland disappear, then felt pain in our eardrums. If our mounts hadn't been alert, we would probably have been swallowed by the dragon-shaped black shadow in the picture. But at that time, with four people and eight eyes, the grassland looked completely empty; there was nothing unusual in the sky. Why couldn't human eyes see it? What secret did this dragon shadow represent? Was it the lingering spirit of an ancient dragon causing trouble? It was too difficult for later generations to fathom the truth behind this mysterious hint left by the ancients.

Fatty glanced through it quickly, finding nothing interesting in the ancient records on the stone wall. He casually took a few looks, then pulled out a wrinkled, cheap "Xingongpai" cigarette from his pocket and sat down next to Old Sheepskin to rest and smoke.

Ding Sitian’s curiosity was no less than mine. After looking at the mysterious patterns on the wall, her mind was full of questions. She asked for my opinion. I said that first, I didn't really believe in dragons existing, although there were many recorded sightings in ancient times, most of them were likely fabrications. In middle school, I remember a sensation-causing event in the suburbs where mountain dwellers digging a well unearthed a half-dead dragon. Many people rushed to cut off dragon meat, and there were rumors that one could take the meat home and eat it, but one absolutely could not mention the word "dragon" while cutting it. The moment the word "dragon" was spoken, dark clouds would immediately gather, lightning would flash, and anyone who uttered the word would be struck dead by lightning on the spot. There were also rumors that people born in the Year of the Snake or the Year of the Dragon shouldn't go to watch. Whatever the rumor, the truth was eventually confirmed: the so-called dragon was merely a giant python that the mountain dwellers had injured while digging the well.

This massive stone engraved with a dragon—whose dynasty or era it came from, who knows—suggests that the legends among the grassland herders about a monstrous dragon swallowing people and livestock near the Hundred-Eye Cave were not unfounded. I just felt it might be a rare meteorological phenomenon, one that the world at that time apparently hadn't understood yet. But what kind of force could erase living beings without sight or form? With just Ding Sitian and me, how could we fathom the mystery? We analyzed it haphazardly for a while but couldn't grasp the core meaning, so we had to give up.

Ding Sitian turned to examine the carvings on the other side of the stone wall. My own doubts grew larger. I didn't immediately follow her to look at the other side but instead asked Fatty for a cigarette. This "Xingongpai" paper cigarette was something we had traded for with the "Yellow Immortal Aunt." The tobacco was very poor quality and potent, making it harsh. Even so, we couldn't afford to smoke it directly; we mixed half dry leaves with the tobacco shreds, rolling one cigarette into two. Taking one drag made one feel dizzy, as if lost in a thick fog.

After taking two drags, I felt my mind clear up significantly. I walked over to Ding Sitian and joined her to look at the carved patterns on the giant stone. Hopefully, this side would have some useful information. But as soon as I stood there and glanced at the stone wall, the "mixed-type" cigarette in my hand almost dropped to the ground. This side was engraved with the "Yellow Immortal Aunt!"