Chapter 39: The Sacrificial Mural

The corridor behind the wooden door was not as spacious as the one in the suspected tomb below, but it was far more exquisite. Every stone tile on the floor was fitted together with seamless precision and carved with fish-scale patterns. In the center, there were even shallow reliefs of fins, giving the impression that the entire tomb had been built upon the back of a gargantuan stone fish.

Leng Ying raised a hand to wipe away the black grime from the corners of her eyes, rubbing them vigorously as if they were irritated. "Listen, Fatty Blue, let me give you a lesson. The Jurchen people are an ethnic group with a long history, dating back to the Shang Dynasty. From the Sushen to the Yilou, the Wuji to the Mohe, it wasn't until the Five Dynasties period that they were finally called the Jurchen..."

Cheng Xiangru felt lost in a fog. Finding the lecture tedious and dull, he waved his hand impatiently, signaling for her to stop. But as if spurred on, Leng Ying didn't stop; she simply shifted from history to mythology.

"The Jurchen people worshipped the Shaman. Later, they renamed themselves the Manchu. The word 'Man' is derived from 'Shaman.' Because they originated from a hunting and fishing society, their myths hold that the entire world rests upon the back of a fish. Look at this corridor—the use of fish-scale patterns perfectly reflects that Shamanistic belief."

Seeing that Cheng Xiangru still lacked interest, she decided to bring up something more mundane. "Do you know that in the Chagan Lake of the Northeast, there is still a custom of sacrificing the 'first fish' every year? The first fish caught during the winter fishing season can sell for millions!"

Upon hearing something related to money, Cheng Xiangru finally showed interest. "What kind of fish is that expensive?"

Leng Ying raised an eyebrow smugly. "Just an ordinary fish. You think people buy it to eat? It's to flaunt their status! Once you're rich, you can buy one yourself and see what it's like. It's exhilarating!"

Cheng Xiangru shook his head repeatedly. "Impossible! Absolutely impossible!"

At that moment, Chen Shangke, who had been completely unresponsive, let out a moan and shifted slightly. Overjoyed, Cheng Xiangru leaned forward to help him, but Leng Ying’s hand moved like lightning, delivering a sharp chop to the back of Chen Shangke’s neck. Poor Chen Shangke, not yet fully conscious, let out a muffled grunt and slumped back into unconsciousness.

Leng Ying brushed off her hands and continued, "Anyway, as I was saying, the fishing season at Chagan Lake is so lively..."

"Wait! What are you doing?" Startled, Cheng Xiangru reached out to check Chen Shangke’s nose. Only after feeling a faint, warm breath against his fingers did he let out a sigh of relief. He turned to look at Leng Ying, feeling a surge of annoyance. "Brother Chen was about to wake up! Why did you knock him out?"

Leng Ying blinked. "Was he?" She looked down at Chen Shangke and shook her head. "He can't wake up now. It would be too troublesome."

"How would it be troublesome?" Cheng Xiangru was genuinely angry now.

Leng Ying retorted, "When he sees us, how are you going to explain it? And how are you going to introduce me?"

Cheng Xiangru was left speechless. He had been sent out to buy a bicycle pump, and now he was here, wearing blue burial clothes, accompanied by a girl in a matching red set. He truly had no way to explain it.

Leng Ying patted his shoulder. "Don't think about it. Look, the smoke is drifting over again. Let’s hurry inside. If we can find another exit, we'll figure it out once we're out. If we can't, well, we’re going to die here anyway. By the time he wakes up later, you can do whatever you want."

Cheng Xiangru sighed helplessly, hoisted Chen Shangke onto his shoulder, and followed Leng Ying through the wooden door, closing it behind them.

Inside, the ceiling was even more exquisite than the floor. A star map inlaid with crystals shimmered brilliantly under the beam of their flashlights. Yet, even this crystal star map was overshadowed by the murals on the walls. The paintings were vibrant and glowed with a faint luster, depicting figures, beasts, and plants with lifelike detail.

Cheng Xiangru leaned in closer and discovered that the colorful lacquer was slightly translucent, delicate and clear. "What was used to paint this? It's so beautiful!" he exclaimed in genuine awe.

Leng Ying assumed the air of an old scholar, straightening her back. "Need you ask? These are pigments ground from colored gemstones. They won't fade for a thousand years; they're worth a fortune. But while the pigments are precious, the content of these murals is worth even more."

"What do you mean?" Cheng Xiangru saw nothing special, only beauty.

Leng Ying pointed to the wall. "In ancient tombs, murals usually carry the will of the tomb owner. They either praise the owner's deeds in life, imagine their paradise in the afterlife, or..." She trailed off. She leaned in closer, her brow furrowing as she noticed something alarming.

Cheng Xiangru set Chen Shangke down and raised his flashlight to join her.

In the mural, many golden-armored warriors guarded a sacrificial altar. Standing upon the altar was a massive willow tree, beside which stood a man in furs, holding a golden sword aloft as if praying to the heavens. The heavens above the altar were depicted in seventeen layers, and the earth below in nine. Enveloping these layers was a massive, monstrous entity with countless eyes and limbs—a figure so majestic and terrifying that it made Cheng Xiangru’s scalp crawl.

He wanted to ask what Leng Ying had seen, but she seemed oblivious to the monster that covered most of the wall, her eyes locked solely on the golden sword in the priest's hand.

After waiting for a long time, seeing that Leng Ying stood as if soulless and motionless, he couldn't help but nudge her gently. "Are you alright?"

Leng Ying shuddered, snapping out of her trance. She glanced at Cheng Xiangru and then, without a word, walked deeper into the corridor to continue observing the subsequent murals. Worried, Cheng Xiangru struggled to hoist Chen Shangke back up and chased after her, his steps heavy. "What is wrong with you?"

Leng Ying let out a long, shaky breath and turned to face him, her expression grave. "I think we've found something extraordinary!"

Cheng Xiangru froze, even more confused. "You were so talkative a moment ago, why can't you say anything clearly now? What is going on?"

"Don't you find it familiar?"

"Familiar? What? Oh, you’re driving me crazy!"

Leng Ying’s chest heaved; her emotional volatility was unprecedented. She seemed to be grappling with a monumental choice. Finally, she whispered, "That sword—I’ve seen it before!"

"Which one?" Cheng Xiangru pointed at the mural. "The one in the painting? Don't all swords look the same? I don't see what's so special about it."

But then, the next words she spoke left him rooted to the spot, unable to recover for a long time.

"Your father has the exact same sword."