That fiery red gourd was carved from stone, standing over a meter tall, smooth all over, and as vivid red as flame. If it had been erected here two thousand years ago, the passing of two millennia could have turned seas into mulberry fields, yet this stone gourd looked as if it had just been completed.

When we first saw the gourd, a chill ran through us; its color was astonishingly vibrant, which was truly strange. Only when we pushed aside the cluster of dancing grass and approached did we realize it was fashioned from cinnabar cloud stone. The naturally fiery red color of this stone was the source of the earliest red dyes when ground into powder.

The surface of this stone-carved gourd was also smeared with an insect-repelling preparation, causing weeds and vines to keep their distance. For all these years, it had remained solitary, set in an inconspicuous corner of this valley.

I looked at the red stone gourd and couldn't help but wonder aloud, "Why a gourd instead of a toad statue? To fully release the shape and momentum of this water dragon vein’s auspicious site, there should logically be an altar or a clan hall built here."

Located at the edge of the valley, countless vines draped down from the jagged, steep cliff face, obscuring everything beyond three steps. Fatty, impatient, he strode forward a few paces, using his entrenching tool to clear the obstructing vines, and discovered something beneath the cliff. He turned and called back to us, "Hurry over here and take a look, there really is a toad here."

Irley Yang and I hurried over upon hearing the sound. Beneath the cover of countless trailing vines, directly opposite the red stone gourd, we saw a shrine dedicated to the mountain god built against the rock face. Although I couldn't clearly discern the terrain here, it should have been situated along the central axis of the peak behind us, employing a "wedge-mountain large timber frame structure" divided into front and rear sections. The façade of the main shrine was entangled by vines countless times, and some tiles and timber had already collapsed.

Although the green tiles and painted beams on top were dilapidated, because this was the aperture of the water dragon vein, capable of gathering wind and preserving qi, the general framework was still retained. The several tiers of insect escape routes carved into the cliff face had become defunct due to changes in soil and water, and it was a miracle that the wooden structure of the shrine, though rotted, had not yet fallen under the pressure of the dense vegetation.

This ancient structure dedicated to the mountain god had quietly passed through infinite ages in this desolate and secluded corner of the valley, a testament to the special timber, the construction techniques, and the valley’s peculiar environment of minimal rainfall.

It remained unclear what purpose the red stone gourd placed before the shrine served; perhaps it was related to the form of the mountain god. The ancients believed that the five elements—metal, wood, water, fire, and earth—each governed deities, and every mountain and river had its own spirit. However, the appearance of the shrine varied according to local customs, geographical environment, and cultural background.

We looked up and saw that although the shrine was veiled by layers of vines, there was no immediate danger of collapse. Many birds had built nests in the structure nearby, suggesting the air quality was fine, and there was no need to worry about poisonous mountain miasma. So, we removed our gas masks, pushed aside the vines at the entrance, and the damaged gate fell inward with a push.

I stepped inside and saw that the main hall was also overgrown with various plants. The shrine was not large. The clay statue on the altar had fallen; it was a black-faced god, expressionless, with eyes slightly closed, clad in mud-sculpted black robes. Even though it had been pushed from its seat into a corner by the vines, it still exuded a cold and imposing aura.

Flanking the mountain god statue were two clay sculptures of mountain sprites, both possessing green faces and protruding tusks, resembling yaksha; the one on the left held a fiery red gourd, while the one on the right held a toad in both hands.

Seeing these, I suddenly understood: Ah, so the toad and the gourd were the mountain god’s belongings. I just didn't know what use the Mountain Lord intended for these two items.

Fatty remarked, "He probably uses the gourd to store wine, eating the toad as a side dish while drinking. Old Man Da Jin Ya loves that sort of thing, though he prefers frog legs."

I looked at the desolate and mournful state of the mountain shrine, overgrown with weeds, which unexpectedly stirred my emotions. I couldn't help but recall the days when Fatty and I were so poor we had to sell our watches. Feeling a pang of sorrow, I said to Fatty and Irley Yang, "The mountain god is meant to bless the region. Having a shrine built, he should have received incense and offerings, but now look at this ruin—it shows that rise and fall are predestined. Even the Mountain Lord experiences hard times, let alone common folk. Indeed, yin and yang follow the same principle; success and failure are inevitable."

Irley Yang asked me, "With all this talk, are you hatching some new scheme? Are you thinking of offering a sacrifice?"

I shook my head. "Sacrificing is unnecessary. Why don't we take the initiative to push the fallen statue back into place, offer the Mountain Lord a pack of American cigarettes to bless our journey and ensure nothing goes wrong? If we make progress later, we can return to restore his golden body and add incense."

Fatty chimed in, "I think believing in anything or praying for anything is useless. I trust only my own arms and legs, not heaven or earth. If this mountain god bastard truly had power, why couldn't he protect himself? I say let the bastard lie down; as the saying goes, dumplings are best when eaten, so lying down is better than standing up. Come on, let's check out the back hall."

Seeing that no one would help, I gave up and followed them into the rear chamber. This back hall was built into the peak on the left side of the Insect Valley, making it even narrower than the front hall. In the center was a screen made of green stone, bearing a painted image of the Mountain Lord. His figure was similar to the clay sculpture in the main hall, but relatively blurred, making his features hard to discern, and he lacked the flanking mountain sprites. This stone screen seemed not to be artificially engraved but rather composed of naturally occurring patterns.

Turning past the green stone screen, at the very end of the shrine, were nine huge stone toad statues arranged horizontally. My eyes lit up instantly—this indeed corresponded to the number of the Nine Bends Recurrence. Such mechanisms are obvious to those who understand the Yi Long Jing (Classic of the Dragon’s Transformation). If one only knows the I Ching trigrams without grasping the essence of Feng Shui secrets, they would likely try to solve it using the Nine Palaces method, and they would never find the secret passage.

I looked closer and noticed that the mouths of the nine stone toads were alternately open and closed, and the orientation of their heads also varied. The mouths of these toad carvings could move, and their bodies could rotate via stone troughs. Each of the nine toads had four possible rotational directions, plus the opening and closing of the mouth; calculating the total number of different arrangements would take considerable effort. Moreover, these stone mechanisms should be pressed in sequence from left to right. If moved randomly, three consecutive incorrect settings would cause the mechanism to lock permanently.

So, I asked Fatty for help. Following the principle of the Nine Bends Recurrence, from left to right, we first adjusted the toad mouths to open and close. Then, we applied the calculations from the "Shield" scroll of the Sixteen-Character Yin-Yang Feng Shui Secret Manual, combined with the conversion incantation from the Yi Long Jing, to position the stone toads one by one according to their corresponding orientations.

After completing this sequence, there was no reaction inside the inner chamber. Logically, the Nine Bends Recurrence facing the cliff should have been correct; why wasn't a secret door opening?

Irley Yang, thinking quickly, suggested we check outside the shrine. We rushed back out to search and finally located the area outside the mountain god temple. The gourd that had been in front of the shrine had somehow split into two halves, revealing a stone door beneath it.

This stone door was shaped like a huge toad’s mouth, flat and short, also made of fiery red cinnabar cloud stone. It was engraved with simple patterns, and on the left and right were two large bronze rings that could be pulled upward.

It turned out that the mechanism was ingeniously designed. Even if someone knew that the nine toads were the trigger for the stone door, without knowing the method of unraveling it, they wouldn't find the exterior entrance even if they blasted the entire area flat with explosives.

Irley Yang asked, "This stone door is awfully strange, looking like a toad’s mouth. I wonder what mysteries lie inside. Is there truly a tunnel leading to the main tomb here?"

I told her, "The markers on the Zhen Ling Pu (Tomb Guarding Manual) are correct. This should be an underground passage, and it certainly ought to lead to the star position of the nearest aperture within the water dragon swirl. It seems the only way to reach the Ming Lou for the offering is by passing through here. As for why a toad was used as the marker, I can’t fathom it either."

The toad holds many symbolic meanings in ancient China. There is a New Year's painting depicting a plump child holding a fishing rod with a golden line, playing with a three-legged toad, called 'Liu Hai Teasing the Golden Toad'; the saying that a three-legged toad is hard to find is derived from this allusion. However, in some folk traditions, the toad’s poisonous nature is specifically emphasized. But the two toad statues before us now are neither three-legged nor covered in warty blemishes; perhaps they are merely the Mountain Lord's playthings.

Fatty patted his "Chicago Typewriter" and said, "At worst, we’ll run into a giant toad down there. With this gun, what's there to fear? Even if the ancestor of all toads came, I could pepper it full of holes."

Having the superior firepower of the American submachine gun truly felt like having a massive mountain behind us. Still, I reminded Fatty, "The tomb of the Xian King is meticulously laid out. Although this stone door is extremely concealed, we cannot guarantee there aren't other formidable mechanisms inside. Once we descend, we will handle whatever comes, adapting to circumstances; there is no need to be afraid."

Saying this, the three of us worked together, threading ropes through the bronze rings on either side of the stone door and pulling hard. With a "bang," the stone door opened, revealing a narrow passage. I fired a flare into the depths, piercing the underground darkness. The pale light illuminated the depths of the cavern, where we saw countless giant bones and ivory—a massive burial trench.