Sometimes, all language pales in comparison to the silent communion of emotion, which is precisely the case with Qin Bing'er and me now.

The coffin boat drifted forward through the water, occasionally bumping lightly against the rock walls on either side before rebounding. Though the space remained utterly dark, my mind seemed to conjure the beauty of spring. I had no idea where we were; the silent world felt like an infinite firmament, and Qin Bing'er, Flower, and I were merely particles traversing time and space.

Qin Bing'er lay quietly in my arms, seemingly asleep, her breathing even, her demeanor surely peaceful. Flower was curled up beside me, burying its head vigorously into my armpit until, finally, two heads rested against my chest.

I had no desire to speak, only to hold Qin Bing'er and Flower tighter. Even the dank, clammy scent of the coffin boat seemed to recede from me.

After a long while, my mind finally began to sift through the recent encounters.

In the past, finding myself in such a grim, dark place, I would surely have believed I was trapped in a nightmare. But since meeting Qin Bing'er, the string of bizarre events that followed had left me numb. The matter of the Blood Soul Stele forced me to accept the concept of "destiny." Yet, was my current predicament also a destined trial?

Looking back at yesterday's experiences, two points of doubt sparked endless speculation in my mind: First, what was the origin of that old man who appeared and disappeared inexplicably? Why did he lead us to Yumu Village? Man Niao Niao claimed she encountered him during an evil haunting in Anle Cave—what on earth was that about? Second, normally my tolerance for alcohol is quite high; a few bowls of corn liquor shouldn't render me completely insensible, so why did I become so severely intoxicated yesterday? And was it this drinking that led to our current confinement?

Mulling it over and failing to find answers, I couldn't help but curse Man Niao Niao internally. If she couldn't hold her liquor, she shouldn't have drunk! Getting utterly plastered, she ended up shoving Qin Bing'er and me into this sunless abyss—was she trying to conjure ghosts? I imagined Man Niao Niao now, perhaps regretting it fiercely, beating her chest and wailing. Thinking of this, I began to feel sorry for myself, too. It wasn't entirely Man Niao Niao's fault; if I hadn't been so reckless, pushing to see the Yumu Cave, would all these subsequent events have happened?

"Ying, what are you thinking about?" Qin Bing'er stirred in my embrace. The pressure on my chest eased, and Qin Bing'er’s face was close to mine. Although I couldn't see her expression, the warm breath brushing my face was intensely comforting.

"I was thinking... never mind. What exactly were the circumstances with that luminous ladder and the hand-hold cliff?" I had originally intended to tell her about my internal tirade against Man Niao Niao, but at the last moment, I shifted gears, hoping to distract Qin Bing'er and keep her from dwelling on that harrowing scene.

Qin Bing'er was silent for a few seconds, then replied calmly, "Both the luminous ladder and the hand-hold cliff are on the precipice. They are two other perilous routes for entering and exiting Yumu Village. The luminous ladder is actually composed of stone slabs, each no wider than a foot and no longer than a meter, inserted into the cliff face. Each slab is staggered relative to the one above and below it, forming a stone staircase, but there are wide gaps between the slabs, allowing one to clearly see the fathomless drop below while walking on them—hence the name, luminous ladder. As for the hand-hold cliff, it consists entirely of shallow indentations chiseled into the sheer rock face, intended for hands and feet to grip. Ordinary people would lack the courage to traverse these two natural dangers."

I had absolutely no memory of the luminous ladder or the hand-hold cliff. I could only picture their precarious nature through Qin Bing'er's description, while simultaneously wondering: How did I manage not to fall from such dangerous places? But then, I felt a surge of relief. Had I fallen from the ladder or the cliff into the abyss, I would surely be dust now, rather than enjoying the strange fortune of drifting freely in a coffin.

Thinking this way, I decided Man Niao Niao’s stumble had come at the perfect moment.

I sighed. Following Man Niao Niao’s logic about fate—that one must accept what is destined, like eating the destined meal—I figured, if it's meant to be eaten, so be it! Evasion is futile.

I resolved to stop dwelling on yesterday's events and focus instead on this coffin.

According to Qin Bing'er, when we fell, we overturned a hanging coffin resting on the cliff ledge, which broke our fall and miraculously saved our lives. So, what kind of person was buried in that cliffside coffin? When was it interred? And how did ancient people manage to place these coffins on ledges completely divorced from the earth and sky?

In reality, aside from hearsay, this was our second encounter with the mysterious phenomenon of hanging coffins. The first was that three-dimensional painting in Anle Cave, which, according to the Saltwater Goddess (the 'Soul' mentioned before), was formed by the ghost fire emanating from countless hanging coffins. Furthermore, those coffins were supposedly burying the ancestors of "me" (now I realize the Saltwater Goddess's "you" referred to our progenitor, Ba Wuxiang). Of course, we never saw those coffins directly, yet now we were actually sitting inside one.

To this day, hanging coffin burials remain an unsolvable enigma for humanity. The core of this mystery lies in how early peoples, during an era of extremely underdeveloped production capabilities, managed to hoist heavy coffins up sheer cliffs? Some speculate they used ropes, but these coffins are often placed on cliffs that rise sheer for thousands of feet—a feat that might challenge even modern people, let alone ancient humans barely beyond the stone age. Of course, archaeologists have conducted numerous experiments, attempting to lower hanging coffins using ropes from above, but the results were unsatisfactory. Although these tests were eventually completed, they never conveyed a truly convincing feeling. A bolder guess suggests ancient people built scaffolding to hoist the heavy coffins up, and experiments were conducted for this too. But this experiment was even more impractical than the rope theory. First, most hanging coffins are located tens or even hundreds of feet above the ground. If scaffolding was truly used, what a massive undertaking that would have been! Moreover, considering the sheer number of these coffins, executing every single one this way would exhaust any workforce. Naturally, this experiment was impossible to replicate properly because the hanging coffins are situated on cliffs overhanging rivers; the foundation of any temporary bamboo or wooden structure would be impossible to secure in the running water below. Another theory posits that the burials occurred during a river flood, where rising waters allowed for the use of boats or other tools upon which scaffolding could be built. This theory is untestable and defies simple logic—must people wait for a flood before they can be buried? What if the water never rose? Finally, some believe they constructed permanent plank roads along the cliffs to move the coffins, which, again, would be an incredibly arduous construction project.

—Thus, the various speculations and experiments have fundamentally failed to resolve the ancient puzzle of the hanging coffins.

Naturally, modern people have largely reached a consensus on why the ancients adopted the hanging coffin burial method: it was the result of ancestor worship, combined with an ancient belief in the unity of the physical body and the soul. The ancients believed that after death, the soul ascended to heaven, but this did not imply the physical body became unimportant; the soul would eventually return. If the body were ravaged by snakes, insects, or carrion feeders, the soul would find no peace. Out of this concern, ancient peoples placed the deceased's body high above the ground—first, to avoid vermin, and second, to be closer to heaven, reflecting the simple worldview of the ancients.

According to modern understanding, there are several forms of hanging coffins. Some coffins are placed inside caves naturally formed or artificially carved into the cliff face. Others are propped upon protruding rock shelves or inserted onto wooden stakes driven into cracks in the rock. Judging by Qin Bing'er's description, the hanging coffin we encountered this time must be of the second type. The three-dimensional painting we saw in Anle Cave must be the result of both types existing simultaneously, as only then could the varying depths of field create a truly stereoscopic image. —Therefore, the mystery of ancient wisdom is not something we modern individuals can easily decipher.

Musing on this, I took out my lighter and flicked it, illuminating the wooden coffin we were sitting in with the faint blue glow. The result astonished me. I have seen many coffins, but never one as peculiar as this. Ordinary coffins are assembled from many thick wooden planks, but this one was clearly hollowed out from a single, solid piece of timber. If I guessed correctly, the missing lid must have been part of this same log. Unfortunately, due to the passage of time, this coffin made from a single piece of wood had largely decayed, and I couldn't discern what kind of wood it was.

Qin Bing'er also noticed this detail. The way her face flickered in and out of the faint light suggested her surprise was as profound as mine.

The tiny flame of the lighter seemed minuscule against the oppressive darkness. It was precisely this small fire that amplified our sense of the vastness of this space, making us feel like mere ghosts adrift beneath the earth.

My intoxication had completely vanished by now, and the chill in my body had also subsided somewhat. The inevitable result of these two phenomena was that I set aside my romantic notions and soberly recognized the necessity of considering the plight of the two people and one dog.

I cautiously reached my hand into the water. It was bone-chillingly cold and moved very slowly, but the water felt remarkably clean, and there were no signs of life within it. In this enormous space, aside from the soft breaths of the two of us and Flower, and the gentle lapping of water caused by the coffin boat, no other sound could be heard. This situation compelled both Qin Bing'er and me to hold our breath, fearful that the slightest exhalation might invite unnecessary trouble.

While we held our breath and strained to puzzle things out, the front of the boat made a soft "thud," as if it had struck the rock wall. I quickly raised the lighter and peered ahead, confirming that the front of the coffin boat was indeed blocked by a steep rock face, slick with moisture that reflected the light.

Suddenly, Flower let out a sharp bark and leaped out of the coffin, darting toward the rock wall. The resulting gust of air instantly extinguished the lighter's flame. Flower’s cry and leap felt like a thousand-pound hammer striking my and Qin Bing’er's hearts, leaving us paralyzed in the coffin, our minds ringing only with the fading echoes of Flower’s frantic sound.

However, I quickly regained my composure. Flower would not act so rashly without reason; it must have spotted something. I frantically relit the lighter. In the ensuing light, I saw that Flower was already clinging firmly to the cliff face, and the coffin boat had moved forward two or three meters. My heart filled with confusion—how could Flower possess such power? Upon closer inspection, my heart surged with delight...