I gazed at the wooden slips, envisaging the events that transpired at the time. This individual initially supervised the construction of the subsidiary hall. Later, it seemed that something occurred in the mountains, leading to a shortage of raw materials and almost causing the project to come to a halt. After a while, it appeared that the issue was resolved, and the grand tomb resumed construction. However, at this point, the chronicler was reassigned from their original position to oversee the excavation of the foremost tomb. Soon after, injuries befell some individuals, and it was then that these records were made.
"We can't dig any further!"
Taken literally, it seemed like they encountered some obstacle. Semantically, this hindrance wasn't material, such as stumbling upon vast quantities of diamonds or granite during excavation, leaving the craftsmen helpless. However, the meaning on this wooden slip conveyed a sense that digging further was possible, but there was a subjective reluctance to do so. It seemed that the challenging problem they encountered might lead to something perilous if pursued.
The eighth entry seemed to reveal the identity of the tomb's owner. It mentioned the arrival of a ghost master to set up an altar for expelling ghosts, worshiping "Sa" for blessings and safety.
Clearly, "Sa" referred to the deity worshiped by the Dong ethnic group, the sun god. The ghost master, as mentioned by Old He, held an esteemed position among the Dong people, responsible for overseeing the rituals for benevolent spirits and warding off evil entities.
It's known that the Dong people are highly superstitious, believing that ailments, disasters, unsettled homes, or even natural calamities are caused by mischievous spirits. Hence, ghost masters are sought to communicate with the divine, using the power of "Sa" to expel and purify. In the context of the Central Plains, such an individual would be akin to a national preceptor.
In ancient China, during the known era of Dong tribal rule, only the "Wumon Tribe" mentioned by the old hunter seemed relevant.
If my deduction is correct, the tomb's owner should be the Wumon King of that era. Only the Wumon King would have had the ability to construct such a massive underground palace in the mountains, and the authority to invite a ghost master to expel spirits and seek blessings within his tomb.
I picked up the ninth wooden slip, and it bore the inscription, "We shouldn't disturb it, unexpectedly." However, the latter part was scratched off intentionally, rendering it unrecognizable. I hastily grabbed the last wooden slip, only to break into a cold sweat; it contained only four words, "There are ghosts in the tomb."
What shocked me was not just the content but the script. I hadn't translated this sentence. On the last wooden slip, only these four words were inscribed, and they were written in simplified characters!
It was added later, inscribed by someone who had received nine years of compulsory education in the simplified Chinese characters implemented after the founding of New China. Someone had been here before us, discovered the wooden slips, and added the last sentence. Moreover, they deliberately destroyed the content on the ninth wooden slip. What were they trying to conceal? Why claim there are ghosts in this tomb? Was it a warning?
Cold sweat drenched my back. The excitement that had filled me moments ago dissipated instantly. It felt as if someone was peering into my soul.
Instinctively, I swept the flashlight around the tomb chamber, and suddenly, I noticed something amiss. I looked again, and to my horror, I ended up sitting on the ground. In the corner of this stone chamber, someone had appeared silently, just standing there, staring at me. I was certain there was no one there before.
This stone chamber wasn't large, and I had glanced around when I entered. There was only one door across from my current position, and this person must have stealthily entered when I was examining the wooden slips. Could it be... a ghost?
My heart thudded loudly. At that moment, my flashlight blinked twice and went out. Damn it! I had turned off the searchlight to save power, and now, with the flashlight extinguished, the stone chamber plunged into darkness.
I reached for the flashlight, but suddenly, my hand brushed against something with a withered, skin-like texture. My scalp tingled. This texture didn't belong to the flashlight. There was something standing right in front of me.
I rolled away, leaving my initial spot, not caring about anything, rushing towards the entrance as if my life depended on it. After a dozen steps or so, I pressed a button on my electronic watch. In the pitch-dark stone chamber, the electronic watch emitted a faint green light, revealing a silhouette—it was right there.
I didn't think twice, just ran out. As soon as I emerged, it was a dark corridor. I knew that thing was following me. With no time to consider, I ran towards the right side. At this moment, I didn't care if there were traps in the corridor. The fear it instilled in me made me not want to stop for a moment. I was sure it was the "Mountain Ghost" we saw in the mountains earlier—it had followed us in!
This corridor was quite long, and I ran with all my might for about five minutes. Utilizing the dim light from the electronic watch, I suddenly noticed a dark area on the left. It seemed to be an entrance, and instinctively, I turned into it. I didn't run further inside, just crouched against the wall at the entrance.
I listened carefully to the sounds outside, suppressing my own gasps for breath. This continued for about seven to eight minutes, and only then did my heart gradually calm down. Throughout this process, I didn't hear any sounds, and I was finally sure that the thing hadn't followed me.
The flashlight was left in that stone chamber. Now, my only source of illumination was the flashlight, but thankfully, I had spare batteries. Fumbling in my bag, I took out the batteries, unscrewed the flashlight, and just as I switched it on, my heart skipped a beat.
After entering, I had crouched by the entrance without running inside. And right next to me, also crouched against the wall, was a child. This child had a pale complexion, with rosy cheeks on either side, staring fixedly at me.
I clenched my teeth, shining the flashlight over. He didn't seem real. I reluctantly moved closer, only to realize that this "child" was a stone carving coated with powder. Moreover, it wasn't a child but a crouching monkey. The flashlight's momentary flicker had deceived me into thinking it was a child.
As I leaned in for a closer look, I noticed that the monkey carving wasn't finely detailed. However, the powder coating was delicate, a style I had never seen before. It probably belonged to the ethnic minority characteristics of that era, confirming the identity of the tomb's owner as the Wumon King. It seemed that this was indeed the posthumous residence of the Wumon King.
I took out a cold light firework and lit it, instantly illuminating the entire tomb chamber. It was a standard tomb chamber, neatly constructed with a distinct Tang Dynasty style, borrowing elements from Tang burial practices.
On both sides of the door were stone monkeys, while inside
, there were rows of stone carvings—leopards, tigers, rhinoceros, and various other chaotic animals. It appeared to be the Wumon King's arena for beast battles. People, even in death, mirrored their lives. The Wumon King must have been an extravagant and indulgent individual, as such arrangements were seldom seen even in imperial tombs of the Central Plains.
Huh? As I swept the fireworks, it seemed I spotted something strange wedged among the stone carvings. But I wasn't certain, and as I kept shining the light, it might have been my imagination, as there was nothing noteworthy.
The tomb chamber's walls displayed numerous murals, which surprised me. In the Central Plains region, mural materials were often derived from clay or extracted from animals and plants for coloring. Poor preservation could lead to oxidation.
However, the murals of Western ethnic groups were often made from ground gemstones, creating various depths with different grain sizes. They had better longevity.
What surprised me, though, was that even in this remote region like Wumon, they possessed such preservation techniques. I could tell that the pigments on these murals were not ground gemstones but a type of dried synthetic liquid, which was somewhat astonishing.
The mural style differed significantly from that of the Central Plains, featuring an exaggerated expression. The general theme suggested that the Wumon King enjoyed watching group animal fights. Thus, he would lead an army up the mountain for hunting, capturing various large animals, including bears and tigers, using nets and ropes. However, during their return, the army discovered a cave, where they encountered a... falling dragon?
I reached up and felt scales and horns; there were even a few wispy whiskers drawn quite vividly. The mural indeed depicted a large dragon.
However, I considered this to be an unrealistic portrayal. When ancient people encountered unexplainable phenomena, they would associate it with the supernatural. I guessed they might have encountered a large python living deep in the forest or that the python underwent some mutation, leading them to mistakenly believe it was a dragon.
The Wumon King was delighted and immediately ordered the dragon to be brought back. It was kept in the royal palace. Following this were some battle scenes, gruesome with animal corpses strewn across the ground, mostly incomplete. In the sea of blood, the dragon stood silently coiled.
The last mural was relatively simple, but as I looked at it, cold sweat trickled down my face. It evoked a peculiar feeling, analogous to when you install a camera at home, clock in after work, and replay the footage. You see your pets playing around—then, a person in black clothes wearing a hat flips in from the window, enters your bedroom. Soon after, you yourself enter through the front door.
That's how I felt now. I didn't dare turn around because the last mural depicted a large number of slaves moving various stone carvings into the tomb chamber. In the final group, soldiers ushered in the dragon as a burial offering, chaining it to a stone beam. Looking at the mural's location, it was precisely the beam behind my head.
My heart throbbed. So many years had passed; even if it was a dragon, it had probably withered to death. What was this Wumon King thinking? Why couldn't he be like our community's elderly, stroll with a bird, play with a dog, practice Tai Chi, or dance with the old ladies? Pah, all this chaotic stuff.
I gradually moved closer to the wall, succumbing to human nature. If you don't think about it, there's no problem. Once you feel something behind you, the urge to look back becomes overwhelming. Unable to resist, I stood against the wall, turned around abruptly, shining the flashlight brightly. There was nothing on the stone beam above my head.
I sighed with relief. Perhaps, this mural wasn't accurate, or maybe for some reason, that dragon had been taken out. But before I could even catch my breath, a series of scraping sounds echoed in my ears, like the sound of iron chains sliding across the ground.