The trajectory of a flare sliced through the tunnel shaped like a "╦╧", revealing asymmetrical openings at both the left and right ends, with the deepest recesses obscured from view. The main passage was lined on both sides with towering piles of stark white bones. From the distance, only immense, curved, gigantic ivory tusks were distinguishable, mixed with what appeared to be the skeletal remains of other animals. As the flare reached the end of its arc, a glimmer of moving water could be seen; judging by its position, it must have been part of the subterranean water system feeding the Snake River.

Although entering the passage meant stumbling into what was essentially a massive ossuary, the sheer scale of the underground structure, coupled with the presence of a water system running parallel to the deep valley, confirmed that this tunnel was almost certainly the route leading directly to the main burial chamber of the Xian King’s tomb.

We held a quick conference. While it was highly probable that this tunnel was riddled with lethal traps, venturing through the subterranean passage was infinitely preferable to confronting the endless, pervasive, poisonous miasma of the mountain peaks. Besides, the three of us were capable, unlike our last venture into the Xinjiang desert where we were burdened by a retinue of intellectuals who slowed every move. Grave robbing, or daodou, is best executed with a tight team of two or three. With the heavy firepower provided by the “Chicago Typewriter” and the butane flamethrower, supplemented by the traditional tools of the Mojin Xiaowei, we were equipped to handle whatever lay ahead.

We paused at the mouth of the cavern for a brief rest and gear check. Since we lacked the bamboo raft this time, any underground water meant we’d have to undertake an armed swim. Therefore, all non-essential gear was temporarily set aside inside the shrine dedicated to the Mountain God.

We quickly changed into sharkskin dive suits, fastening elbow and knee pads. The headlamp on the mountaineering helmet was adjusted to a side-facing position, fresh batteries were installed, and dive masks were fitted over the helmets. Compact, refillable oxygen tanks were strapped to our backs. Each of us carried only a single waterproof satchel containing essentials: emergency medical supplies, spare batteries, cold flares, gas masks, fluorescent tubes, candles, protective talismans, and Wolf-Eye flashlights—the usual necessities.

Fatty’s wetsuit didn't fit well, so he opted out of wearing his. I told him, “You don’t have to wear it; you’re the brawny one, relying purely on brute strength.”

Shirley Yang objected immediately. “You must wear it! Don’t you remember how cold the water was beneath Dragon’s Coffin Mountain? Staying in the water too long leads to hypothermia. Even if the suit is a bit tight, you have to squeeze into it, or you stay here and wait for us. You are not coming inside.”

Fatty recalled Shirley Yang falling off the raft at Dragon’s Coffin Mountain and returning with lips tinged blue from the cold. It was clear that even if the surface was humid and sweltering, the underground water system here would be lethally frigid. Moreover, the priceless artifacts of the Xian King’s tomb were not far off—there was no way he’d agree to wait. He sucked in his breath, clenched his stomach, and forcibly pulled the diving suit on, muttering complaints afterward: “Damn thing has a tiny crotch and short legs. Whoever’s uncomfortable can deal with it themselves.”

The heavier items—the engineer’s shovel, ice axe, various ropes, canteens, and food rations—along with the weapons, ammunition, blasting caps, sixteen ingots of explosives, and the butane canisters for the flamethrower, were consolidated into one large waterproof duffel bag. Inflatable air bladders were tied around it so that we could keep the gear afloat on the water’s surface using buoyancy, allowing us to tow it while swimming to conserve energy.

The remaining supplies were packed and stored in the main hall of the Mountain God temple. By the time preparations were complete, the sun had sunk low, and birds were returning to their nests. Taking advantage of the twilight, the three of us entered the tunnel.

Shirley Yang led the way, holding the Vajra Umbrella and shining her Wolf-Eye flashlight forward. Fatty and I followed, laboriously carrying the large waterproof bag of gear, descending slowly along the slightly steep slope.

The initial stretch of the passage was clearly man-made, constructed with neatly cut, large blocks of blue stone, the seams sealed with red lacquer. The large square tiles on the floor were perfectly level, resembling the yongdao (corridor) of an ancient tomb.

Lining both sides of the corridor were complete skeletons of elephants, clearly transported after being butchered elsewhere. Placing whole elephant skeletons or tusks in a sacrificial pit was done to invoke the homonym of xiang (elephant), which sounds like xiang (auspiciousness). The elephant, being large and exceptionally gentle, symbolized good fortune and prosperity. In ancient China, as far back as the Shang Dynasty, ivory and elephant bones were already used as burial accompaniments. Numerous ivory tusks were unearthed at Yinxu, evidence that sizable elephant herds still roamed the Yellow River basin in that era—a species long since extinct in that region.

These sacrificial remains were intentionally only half-buried, not fully interred like those in a burial trench. This suggested that the deceased King was believed to have achieved immortal sainthood, no longer concerned with worldly matters; the half-burial symbolized his ascent into the heavens.

I counted sixty-four complete elephant skeletons in this single pit alone, with countless ivory tusks. Some smaller animal bones were so decayed over the ages they had turned to soil, making identification impossible. Shirley Yang conjectured they might be the remains of hounds, horses, and possibly slaves.

We were once again struck by the sheer magnitude of the Xian King’s tomb and the opulence of its offerings. I remarked to them, “Even the tombs of minor southern states like the ancient Dian Kingdom possess this level of extravagance—all for one man, hundreds of thousands of commoners suffered agonizing hardship, their blood and sweat funding this massive necropolis. In the end, the belief that he ascended to heaven to secure eternal rule turned out to be nothing but a fleeting dream, and these treasures remain here to decay with the sun and moon. Looking at it now, how absurd! Ancient tombs built upon the spoils of the people—they ought to be collapsed as many times as they were built.”

Shirley Yang responded, “I never expected the Xian King’s tomb to have sacrificial pits this large.” As she spoke, she had already reached the junction of the "╣"-shaped passage. She called out, “What are these for?”

Fatty and I caught up and shone our Wolf-Eye beams into the corner. It wasn't a tunnel continuation, but rather a recessed niche in the main passage’s stone wall, only a few meters deep, scattered with several sections of long poles that looked like they could be connected. I found it strange and reached out to examine one, but the moment I touched the seemingly intact poles, they crumbled into a fine, muddy paste. Because of the underground water flow, the interior lacked proper sealing; anything two thousand years old was inherently fragile upon contact.

This niche in the stone wall seemed specifically designed to hold these poles. Could they have been used to measure water depth? The three of us were baffled, unable to determine their purpose. The Xian King’s mausoleum was filled with so many bizarre and inexplicable artifacts that these rods seemed insignificant. We decided to ignore them and press onward.

We reached the end of the tunnel—the area where we had seen the water surface reflecting the flare. Following the sloping passage down, we had descended perhaps thirty meters from ground level. From this point on, the passage was no longer manually excavated but a natural underground cavern. However, it was entirely flooded; to proceed further, we had to submerge and swim.

Along the waterline, several ancient wooden boats were moored against the stone wall. Perhaps pilgrims coming to venerate the tomb in the main hall used these vessels. But due to the immense age, the wood had rotted almost entirely, leaving little more than skeletal frames, unusable now.

We deployed the air bladders attached to our large backpack, inflating them to make the bag float on the surface. We placed the submachine guns on top so they could be retrieved quickly if needed. We stowed the Wolf-Eye flashlights, activated the tactical spotlights on our helmets for illumination, and then entered the water, swimming while holding onto the large floating pack.

After moving about ten meters into the water, our feet could no longer touch the bottom. The icy, bone-chilling water grew deeper. I checked the compass; the direction of the current ran perfectly parallel to the orientation of Insect Valley.

Within this cavern, the water contained numerous massive, natural stone pillars, resembling coral formations on the seafloor, branching out into myriad intricate shapes. Because the cave was pitch black, it was impossible to discern how these strange pillars had formed.

The distance between the water surface and the cavern roof was very low, creating an oppressively confining feeling. Looking up, I saw the huge root systems of valley vegetation growing down from above. Some of the longer ones even dipped directly into the water, creating a rare canopy of living plant matter.

As we swam deeper, the terrain gradually dropped. The section of the cave filled with groundwater allowed the space between the water surface and the roof to widen, making breathing significantly easier than before. However, the hanging plant roots and the bizarre, coral-like stones grew denser. I also noticed that there were fish swimming in the water, occasionally brushing against our bodies before darting away. I silently congratulated myself that they weren't piranhas.

To confirm our intended direction, Shirley Yang asked Fatty to retrieve the signal pistol; she wanted to fire another flare ahead. Fatty counted the remaining flares. “Eight left. We really didn’t bring enough this time; we need to use them sparingly.” He loaded one into the pistol, adjusted the range setting, and fired it forward.

The flare traced a bright arc before finally lodging itself on some tangled vines and epiphytes not far ahead. In that instant, the brilliant white light illuminated the surrounding cavern, revealing a rare and terrifying natural panorama.

It turned out that those coral-like pillars were petrified remains of ancient forest trees—and the "ancient" timescale here was beyond modern human reckoning.

Fossils are relics buried in geological strata, formed by millions of years of silt deposition. Animal fossils are the most common, as bones and teeth contain less organic matter and more inorganic material, slowing decomposition after burial. Water, slowly flowing through the gaps in the sediment, washes away excess minerals, allowing new crystals to precipitate. If these mineral crystals completely replace the organic matter before the bone rots away, a true fossil is formed.

However, plant fossils are rare because vegetation decomposes far faster than animal bones. Shirley Yang became visibly excited. “Billions of years ago, Dragon’s Coffin Mountain might have been a massive, active volcano. During the final, apocalyptic eruption, a massive mudslide also occurred nearby. Lava engulfed the forest below, instantly carbonizing the trees with intense heat, but before they could be completely destroyed, they were immediately buried by the ensuing mudflow, and the temperature cooled instantly.”

Over eons measured in millions of years, as nature shifted and the groundwater system repeatedly scoured the area, the forest, sealed in sediment for countless millennia, was finally revealed underground.

I didn't find these stone trees particularly amazing; I’d unearthed similar specimens in the Kunlun Mountains. But Shirley Yang had been looking worried lately, her expression perpetually melancholic, and it was rare to see her cheerful. I said to her, “Although our journey through Yunnan has been filled with anxiety, we’ve seen real mountains and rivers, witnessed things most people never see in a lifetime. It hasn't been in vain; we’ve gained a great deal.”

Fatty interjected, “Just looking at broken rocks is a bit of an anticlimax. If we could scoop up a few earth-shattering artifacts to show off to those bastards Da Jin Ya and the rest at Panjiayuan, then kick them out of Panjiayuan and march into Liulichang, that would truly be a perfect conclusion.”

I was about to reply when the flare ahead of us finally exhausted its energy and dimmed. The cave plunged back into total darkness, leaving only the faint beams of our helmet spotlights. I felt as though we were drifting on a black ocean, the only three people left in the world. As the last sliver of light from the flare was slowly consumed by the darkness, a sudden, intense feeling of isolation and pressure flooded my nervous system.

I found this sensation deeply unsettling. In the transition from light to dark, it felt as if a faint electrical current had jolted me, followed by this inexplicable sense of loss, instantly turning my mood despondent. I looked at Shirley Yang and Fatty; both seemed to sense something amiss, but what caused this subtle shift, what did it foreshadow, and why did such sudden panic seize me?

Just then, the flare fired directly ahead of us completely extinguished. Yet, at the very moment the last glimmer of light vanished, a faint, white figure slowly materialized in the deep, dark water ahead. Although the cavern was profoundly dark, the white luminescence emanating from the figure’s body grew steadily clearer. I was certain: it was the corpse of a woman dressed entirely in white mourning clothes (su gao). She appeared to be drifting towards us. As the corpse drew nearer, I could clearly make out her frost-pale countenance, and my heart rate began to accelerate. That nightmarish sense of dread intensified exponentially.

Ahead, the water surface was choked with floating aquatic weeds, obstructing our progress. We had to pull out the engineer’s shovel and constantly push aside the dense surface vegetation. Leeches, water spiders, and various insects clung to the duckweed and water hyacinth, constantly swarming toward our faces.

Just as we were growing thoroughly annoyed, we heard a distinct, low buzzing sound—the vibration of countless insect wings coming from up ahead. Instinctively, I drew my submachine gun from the waterproof bag. To get a clear view of what we were facing, Fatty fired another flare. In the sudden light, the area ahead, heavily screened by hanging root systems and vines, was revealed to be swarming with countless enormous black insects resembling tiny dragonflies, save for their lack of eyes. They numbered in the tens of thousands, circling the dense mass of roots like a passing black cloud.

None of us had ever encountered these insects; they were likely unique to this specific, damp subterranean environment. Insects represent the largest class of organisms on earth, and roughly a third of all species remain unknown to humanity.

However, these black, dragonfly-like fliers didn't appear aggressive. Still, such a vast swarm was enough to make one’s scalp crawl.