The ink-green water cavern housing the Tomb of the Xian King was, geographically speaking, a genuine "sinkhole." Its formation could be attributed to only two possibilities: first, violent currents eroding soluble rock caverns, leading to massive collapse; or second, perhaps the impact of a meteorite millions of years ago.

I tumbled down the sheer cliff face, two headless half-insectoid corpses slung across my back. This time, I was prepared. Though my body plummeted rapidly, my hands were busy—snapping the dive mask down over my eyes from the climbing helmet, shaking off the two headless insect corpses behind me, drawing a deep breath, and opening my mouth wide to prevent my eardrums from rupturing under the immense impact of hitting the water from such a height.

Just as I prepared to fully stretch out, aiming for a clean swallow-dive, my body met the water before the maneuver could complete. My shoulders and head struck first, the massive impact slapping against the surface, tumbling my insides. I felt a surge of blood rush through my chest, the back of my throat turning sweet. Martial artists often speak of the chest being "like a well and the back like a cake," but without the right posture for entry, hitting flat on the back could easily result in internal injury.

Fortunately, the pool was deep enough. Despite the force of the fall, I didn't strike the bottom. I sank several meters through a flurry of white spray before stopping. Opening my eyes, I saw that while the pool appeared deep emerald from above, submerged, the water was astonishingly clear to the bottom. Sunlight dappled the surface, casting shimmering green light that made the place feel like a crystal palace. Countless large fish populated the depths, many of them Lie Fu Li—a species whose flesh is peerlessly delicious. It was rare to see specimens so plump.

However, I had no time to savor the memory of the large-headed Lie Fu Li I had sampled passing through Dali. Eager to surface and reach the "boardwalk" clinging to the pool's edge to rejoin Fatty and Shirley Yang, I began swimming upward, parting the water with my hands.

But though I kicked and pulled, I barely moved. Only then did I realize I was caught in a swirling undertow. The water was so transparent that I could clearly see the aquatic grasses carpeting the bottom. Not far beneath me, though, was a vast, perfectly black circle—black because it was incredibly deep. It was a colossal whirlpool, drawing the pool's current ceaselessly downward.

It was precisely because of this large vortex at the bottom that the cascade of waterfalls, even pouring day and night, could never completely fill the pool. The unfrozen spring beneath the Kangba Kunlun also possesses such a massive whirlpool, rumored to connect directly to the Mediterranean Sea thousands of miles away. It was entirely plausible that this pool held a similar major water-eye, connecting to major rivers, lakes, and seas.

If I were sucked into that vortex, no one would be left to collect my remains. The thought sent a jolt of panic through me. I desperately threw all my strength into swimming away from the swirl, but haste makes waste; the more anxious I became, the stiffer my limbs grew. Not only did I fail to reach the periphery, but the undertow pulled me closer—several meters nearer to the massive vortex on the bottom.

Less than ten seconds had passed since I held my breath and submerged. The air in my lungs could last a while longer, but if the undertow trapped me here, I wouldn't last long before running out of breath. Escape would be impossible; I would certainly be dragged into the depths.

At this point, I had no control, completely unable to resist the whirlpool's powerful suction. In an instant, the churning currents swept me toward the bottom. In my desperation, I spotted a dense clump of water grass nearby. This mass of vegetation was also being tugged by the current swirling around the vortex's edge, all leaning in the same direction. The grass grew from narrow crevices in the bedrock on the pool floor—gaps so tight even a finger couldn't slip in.

Seeing it as a lifeline, I lunged out, grabbing for the grass, hoping to anchor myself even temporarily. If I remained even a meter from the vortex, I knew I couldn't escape. But it proved true what Fatty often said: When the tomb raiders start praying, even the Buddha takes a tumble. I finally managed to clutch a handful, only to find the grass slick with masses of insect eggs. My grip slipped, and I came up empty.

I lunged again and again at the large cluster of grass, missing each time. With every failed grab, my heart sank a little further. I had lost count of how many life-or-death trials I had faced today. On instinct, I drew my Russian paratrooper knife, reversed it, and jammed the tip into the crevice where the grass was rooted. The barb on the blade now played a critical role, securing the knife where the root met the stone fissure.

This long slab of rock at the bottom appeared artificially hewn, perhaps having fallen during the construction of the Xian King's Tomb. Because the stone was heavy, the vortex hadn't pulled it in. I had finally found a stable anchor. Not daring to delay, I gripped the slab and began crawling away along the bottom, gradually pulling clear of the whirlpool's suction range.

Suddenly, the sensation in my hand changed—cold and hard, like a thick, heavy layer of steel plating, heavily scarred with mottled rust. Catching the shimmering green light filtering through the clear water, I saw the stone slab ended, connecting to a massive, horizontal cylinder lying on the pool floor. It was entirely draped in emerald-green algae, with schools of small fish darting through the vegetation, making the entire cylinder appear green.

One end of the algae-covered cylinder slanted slightly, having smashed into the adjacent rock wall and broken open a large, pitch-black hole—it looked like a separate realm inside. A thought flashed: That’s it. The bomber pilot we buried. His aircraft crashed into this pool. He must have parachuted down to the edge of Zhaolong Mountain, unfortunately snagged by the High Priest’s jade coffin, and died in the thicket.

It was precisely because the airman wore the uniform of a bomber crew member that we knew this wreckage was different from the transport plane we saw lodged in the trees. Shirley Yang had likened the Insect Valley to a Bermuda Triangle for Yunnan—a graveyard for aircraft. We had seen two large planes; who knew how many others lay undiscovered.

Looking again at the breach in the wall—punctured by the aircraft's nose—I could dimly make out numerous statues of strange beasts within the damaged grotto. This orientation aligned perfectly with the Tomb Palace built into the sheer cliff face directly above the deep pool. Could the buried palace of the Xian King have been breached by the crashed plane?

I had been underwater for over a minute and couldn't stay any longer. I quickly swam up for air. The moment my head cleared the water, the myriad rainbows from the light above dazzled my eyes. Although my hard-plastic climbing helmet had drainage holes to protect my head and reduce drag underwater, it felt incredibly heavy, so I temporarily removed it.

The unique topography of the funnel-shaped pool acted like a massive natural megaphone, carrying the sound of the cascading waterfalls back and forth in a deafening roar within the cliffs. Nothing else could be heard. I saw two figures running quickly down the "boardwalk" high above. When they reached the broken section of the path destroyed by the waterfall, they used vines to begin rappelling down the cliff face—it was Fatty and Shirley Yang. As fast as they descended, it couldn't match the speed of my direct plunge.

Near the thundering cascade, where the water noise was overwhelming, even shouting directly into each other's ears might not have been heard. Separated by dozens of meters, I gave up shouting and waved my helmet above the water, signaling with my arms.

A figure floating on the ink-green surface of the pool was highly visible to anyone looking down from the sheer cliffs above. Sure enough, Fatty and Shirley Yang spotted me instantly and waved back from the "boardwalk."

I looked up. The surrounding cliffs were sheer, as if cleaved by an axe. The circular patch of blue sky overhead was distant and unreachable, filling me with a sudden dread of being trapped. The large group of half-insectoids was retreating back toward the opening by the waterfall. Perhaps because this was the main burial zone of the King’s Tomb, equipped with numerous "Insect Barrier Paths," they could not adapt to the environment of the "sinkhole," retreating like an ebbing tide. However, these freaks adapted quickly; I didn't know if they would return, but at least there was a temporary lull to catch my breath.

I used hand signals toward Shirley Yang and Fatty on the boardwalk, signaling that they didn't need to come down to meet me—I could climb up myself. I told them to wait for me on the main structure of the Xian King's Tomb.

But the two seemed not to understand. They jumped and shouted at me, pointing frantically. Although I couldn't hear their words, I understood from their gestures that a lurking danger in the depths of the pool was closing in on me. Immediately, I swam toward the boardwalk at the edge of the pool with the speed of a swimmer hitting the finish line.

Seeing that I understood, Fatty and Shirley Yang rushed down the boardwalk. Fatty, afraid of heights, could only carefully edge his way down the wide stone steps, shuffling on his backside where the path was broken. Shirley Yang, however, seemed to leap down from ledge to ledge. The more urgently they moved, the clearer I understood the danger I was in.

Fortunately, I was very close to the boardwalk by the water's edge and reached it in moments. I was exhausted, using my last reserves of strength to clamber onto the stone slabs of the boardwalk. I still didn't feel entirely safe and climbed a few more steps before sitting down, panting heavily. I looked at the placid, mirror-like green water, disturbed only by ripples from the waterfall opposite. There was no sign of any inherent danger—at most, there were a few headless, mangled bodies from the insectoids that had fallen into the water, likely swept into the great whirlpool. While their blood was poisonous, the quantity was limited, diluted upon contact, and the colossal water-eye beneath the pool exchanged vast amounts of water, making it impossible for any poison to linger.

By this time, Shirley Yang had reached me, visibly relaxing once she saw I was unharmed. I wanted to ask her what exactly had caused their panic, but the noise of the water made conversation impossible. So, I pointed toward the Xian King's Tomb Palace high on the cliff face—it seemed relatively safe there. We would rest there temporarily. We had suffered significant losses and would have to wait until nightfall to begin operations; after all, day and night were meaningless inside the ancient tomb's subterranean palace.

I glanced up at the palace clinging to the perilous cliffs, glowing with an ethereal, dreamlike radiance amidst the mist and light. I couldn't contemplate it further. I stepped onto the thousand-year-old boardwalk and began ascending toward the "Heavenly Palace."

Clearing vines and finding the path, I climbed higher. The sinkhole topography sucked the sound downward, and by the time I reached a higher elevation, the roar of the water was much subdued. I couldn't help but ask Shirley Yang, "You two were so panicked just now—what exactly did you see?"